


United We Stand

by talmaa



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Alternating, Rickyl, Smut, past Rick/Michonne, season seven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 91,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27471328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talmaa/pseuds/talmaa
Summary: Daryl escaped the Sanctuary, but the Sanctuary didn’t leave him. Rick’s people are biding their time, preparing for war; Daryl is battling his demons and trying to come to grips with the fact that he can’t do it alone. Rick is walking a tightrope between Negan, Michonne, Daryl, and his own feelings.And why won’t Rick tell Daryl why Michonne and Rick as a couple is a thing of the past?What the hell happened while he was caged in the Sanctuary?And what the fuck are they gonna do with Negan?Time: Canon plotline more or less followed up to 7.08. Canon timeline, however, is blithely ignored: Daryl’s captivity lasted much longer in this fic.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Comments: 142
Kudos: 114





	1. Hilltop

**Author's Note:**

> Updates twice a week (Tue & Fri).  
> *  
> Lyrics snippets from 'Easy Street' by Collapsable Hearts.

_-Daryl-_

Someone touched him. Daryl started violently, the transition from light sleep to fully awake a matter of a split second. He grabbed his assailant hard, squeezed the invasive hand and jumped up, his heartbeat echoing in his head so loud he couldn’t hear anything else.

It took him a few seconds to focus his eyes on whoever had sneaked up on him.

“I’m sorry. Should’ve said something first,” said Jesus, a cheek twitching from pain. He was standing by Daryl’s bed, not moving at all, and looked at Daryl with wary eyes. 

Daryl dropped Jesus’s hand like a hot brick and sat back on the bed, heart still fluttering. He tried to cover his alarm by looking down, rubbing his eyes, and generally looking everywhere except at the younger man.

“There’s food now. Thought you should know.”

Daryl grunted an affirmative.

Suddenly they heard raised voices outside. Some kind of a commotion. Jesus’s head snapped towards the door. 

“Wait here, I’ll go check what’s happening.” He walked quickly to the second floor hall and down the stairs. 

Daryl got up slowly, fought against the panic with which he’d awoken, concentrated on taking deep breaths. When he felt more steady on his feet, he took a few steps to look out the window. It wasn’t facing the courtyard so he had no idea what the noise had been about. He simply relished the possibility of looking out whenever he wanted to. It’d been barely a day after what had felt like years of being confined to a dank dungeon.

Daryl forced the memory back under lock and key. He refused to think in terms of panic attacks or some such girly nonsense, but he was honest enough with himself to know that hearing your own heartbeat thumping and whooshing in your ears wasn’t really normal -- and neither was being jumpy the way he’d just been. 

He stood by the window, and let his eyes rest on the sky and the bushes and the trees and the secure, high wall surrounding Hilltop. He glanced down on the table by his side and picked up the Colt. Rick’s Python. 

He wondered when he’d get the chance to meet the man. He wondered about a lot of things about Rick. How he was, for starters. He hadn’t looked so good the last time Daryl had seen him. On the other hand, neither had Daryl, most likely. But Rick had been so forlorn. Subdued. Bowed down. Daryl had seen him carry Lucille around, and it had hit him harder than anything else before or after. Which was another thing he wondered about.

Rick had always been so strong. Resourceful. Full of trust in the family and their abilities. He’d been brimming with integrity and optimism -- so much so that it had sometimes driven Daryl spare.

To have seen him deprived of it all, to have seen his eyes empty and desperate, had almost broken Daryl’s resolve. What was there to fight for if Rick stopped believing?

It had only lasted a moment, that feeling of standing on the edge of a chasm, but it had jolted Daryl badly. It had taken some time to remember that if Rick lost his faith, then it was up to him and the others to keep things going. At the time, he’d had no idea what it would take to get himself out of the Sanctuary cell, but he was ready to bide his time, somehow. Through humiliation, starvation, sleep deprivation -- no matter. He’d live to see Rick’s eyes alive again.

He weighed the Colt in his hands, imagined feeling the grip warm with Rick’s body heat. He shivered. He was so cold all the time. He didn’t remember when he’d last worn long sleeves at this time of year but now, it seemed like nothing was enough to keep him warm. 

He snorted. Shrinks would probably have something to say about that. Good luck with finding any these days, though. Anyhow, talking wouldn’t warm him up, that was for sure.

“Daryl?” He heard Jesus call him from the stairs. He walked over to the door, raised his eyebrow as he saw Jesus’s face, smiling as if, for a short moment, all his worries were wiped clear.

“What?” His voice was rough. He hadn’t talked much after the escape. He had an odd feeling that if he started to talk about what had happened, he wouldn’t be able to stop. And that just wouldn’t do. Better to lock it up and forget it.

“You should come out.” Jesus turned, glanced back as if expecting to see Daryl follow him. “And take the gun with you.”

Daryl’s mind blanked. Did Jesus mean…?

He tucked the Colt under the waistband on his back, and followed the other man out of the back door, walked faster, circled the corner of the house, and there he was, smiling, nodding at the others, face tight and worried but determined once again. The Rick he knew -- back in there.

Daryl stopped, didn’t know how to go forward all of a sudden. So many Rick’s friends were already there, and Michonne… Did Daryl still have a place by his side? Was he still Rick’s best friend? His brother?

> _(the brother who was abandoned, the best friend that nobody came to get -- not like Woodbury no, so where did that leave him, had anyone missed him, had Rick missed him?)_

Daryl shook his head. The voice had wailed those thoughts in his head for weeks and weeks and he’d tried to shut it down as many times. Rationally, he understood the reasons, knew all the answers. He did, truly. But who’d have guessed: a Dixon apparently also had feelings -- Daryl grimaced in his mind, _fuck the feelings!_ \-- and they messed everything up.

He glanced back at Jesus, unsure of what to do. Should he draw attention to himself or not? The Python pressed into his lower back.

Jesus had his eyes on Daryl, steady and calm. He gave Daryl a tiny jerk of his head, pointing towards Rick. Mouthed, “Go!”

Daryl turned his gaze back to Rick. The man was now staring at him, and it was as if a dozen spotlights had pinned Daryl in place. Rick’s complete attention was turned on the hunter with such force, he could only revert to his old ways of communication: a teeny-tiny barely-there nod and an awkward half-shrug conveyed a swarm of thoughts and feelings, and he knew he couldn’t have put them into words anyway. 

Daryl shifted his weight from one foot to the other. What was he supposed to do now?

Rick took a few steps forward, his gaze still locked on Daryl. The archer noticed he was walking too, almost involuntarily. Rick’s eyes were a tractor beam pulling Daryl in. Vaguely he thought it must look odd, and there were people there, watching, but even if his life had depended on it, he couldn’t’ve unlocked their gaze, or named any of the people present, because who gave a fuck about that when Rick was here?

Then they were close, and Rick reached out with his arms and pulled him tight. A hand crept to the back of Daryl’s neck, fingers tangled in Daryl’s long locks, fingertips rubbing his scalp, and Daryl could’ve collapsed from sheer pleasure. Fuck, how long had it been since anyone had held him like this, flush against another warm body, kind hands, friendly touch? When he’d come back, he’d been pat on the back and Maggie had briefly hugged him, but this? 

Daryl’s own arms wrapped around Rick on their own and he dared to follow Rick’s example and hold the older man just as tight. Blood was whooshing in his head again but this time it didn’t feel scary.

Rick pulled Daryl even closer, they were cheek to cheek, and for a glorious while Daryl wasn’t shivering from cold. 

“...I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… oh God, I’m sorry…”

Daryl realized Rick had been murmuring, low and thick, for some time. He rubbed Rick’s back and mumbled, “Don’t. ‘s ok.”

> _(no it’s not no it’s not you didn’t come for me you left me!!!)_

_Yes it is. It will be ok. It will be._ Just then, Daryl truly knew it would be ok. He heard the pain in Rick’s voice, the anguish and remorse. Rick had done the best he could. _A man’s best ain’t always the fairytale version, with brave fights and the righteous winning and happily ever after and all that shit._

“I thought I’d lost you.” Rick’s voice trembled. He pulled back just enough so that their foreheads were touching. Daryl sensed that some people were still looking at them but everyone was pulling back, giving them space and privacy. Not many of those people knew them, and Lord knew what they thought of the hugs and whispers, but Daryl didn’t give a flying fuck. He remembered Rick’s words, from way back. _You being back with us here, now...that's everything._ A while ago he’d wondered if he still had a place by Rick’s side. If him being back would still be ‘everything’. Now, he dared believe it would be.

“You didn’t.” Daryl paused, trying to figure out how much to say. “After the prison fell, I decided I ain’t never gonna lose you again. So here I am. ‘m not that easy to get rid of.” He tried to lighten up the emotional words but Rick wasn’t playing along.

“You don’t...don’t know how lost I’ve been without you. And knowing where you were only made it worse. Knowing that... _thing_ … had you under his thumb, and that anything we might’ve done could’ve made it hundred times worse for you.” Rick rubbed Daryl’s neck with his fingertips. Warm waves traveled up and down the hunter’s spine. “You wouldn’t’ve been proud of me. I had no idea what to do. Michonne...she didn’t approve...I guess if it’d been up to her, you would’ve been out a long time ago.” Rick’s voice dropped even lower. “I’m so sorry, Daryl. I hope you can forgive me one day.”

Daryl closed his eyes for a moment, blocked out everything except the feel of Rick’s skin and arms and fingers. Then he pulled back, put some distance between them, reached to his waistband, and handed Rick the Python, like a peace offering, like a pardon, like a silent confession _here, you were always in my thoughts_. The leader stared at the gun as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. He took the Colt with both hands, fingers brushing Daryl’s hand, and raised his gaze to the archer. There were no words anymore, just the tiny nods which felt like home.

*****

Two hours later they had a meeting. Daryl felt unreal about it all. It’d been weeks, or months? -- he wasn’t sure. It had taken a penitent enemy and an almost-stranger to get him out of there, back to his family: Rick, Michonne, Tara, Sasha, Carl, Rosita, Maggie, Enid…

> _(none of them came where were your friends do you even have friends)_

_STOP!_ Daryl squeezed his eyes shut so hard it hurt. It would be ok. He knew it now. The knowledge just hadn’t yet reached the screaming _thing_ in his head.

They were talking about Daryl’s escape and the war that was about to start. Daryl knew he should be listening, this concerned him too, and man, did he want to join the fight.

> _(I’ll kill them all! I’ll kill them all! I’ll kill them all! I’ll kill them all! I’ll kill them all!)_

There was a hand on his knee, and he realized he was panting hard, swaying on the bench. The red mist evaporated. No, he wouldn’t kill them all. One of them had helped him escape. Not everyone deserved to die. He opened his eyes _(oh, they’d been closed?)_ and saw that Rick had changed seats with Jesus who’d been sitting by him. The hand on his knee belonged to Rick. He glanced at the others through his long fringe. 

Nobody was watching them, they were all talking, Maggie and Sasha still grieving and angry, Tara with her tense jaw and vindictive glint in her eyes, Rosita determined and straight-backed, Carl and Enid silent and listening, and Michonne… her eyes were drifting from person to person, avoiding Rick and Daryl completely, her body subtly turned away from them. 

There was a story there, Daryl was sure of it.

“How’re you holding up?” Rick’s quiet voice. 

“‘m ok,” he said. What else could he say?

“Look at me. Please, Daryl.”

Reluctantly, he raised his eyes.

“It’s ok if you’re not ok. I’m not. Neither are they,” Rick said, and jerked his head towards the others. “I don’t think there’s anyone left in the world who can honestly say they’re ok.” His eyes were sad but his voice was calm; it was like Daryl remembered him, before Negan had happened. 

“You sound like… you,” Daryl said, and regretted it the second the words were out. What a stupid thing to say!

Rick smiled. A small, tense smile, granted, but a smile nonetheless.

“You’re back,” he said, like it was all the explanation anyone would ever need, and Daryl didn’t know how to deal with that. It was huge. It was...everything.

But there was one thing he had to ask, even though it hurt.

“Carol?”

Rick squeezed Daryl’s knee, warm and comforting.

“Still gone. We don’t know where she is. I’ve no doubt she’s ok but...yeah.”

Daryl dropped his gaze, looked at Rick’s hand, tried to focus on that. Not think of Carol who had left them all without a word. Just a letter to her boyfriend of a few weeks. Nothing for her family. Nothing for him. She’d just left.

“She loves you, y’know.”

Daryl snapped his eyes back to Rick and frowned. “No she don’t.”

“I know you weren’t together, and I didn’t mean it like that… She loves you, I dunno, like a brother, like a close friend. Like family. She didn’t leave to hurt you. She left to not hurt herself.”

The hunter knew his eyes were glistening with tears, goddamn it! But no-one was looking at them, and it didn’t bother him, at least not much, that Rick saw him like that.

“It ain’t perfect, and she ended up hurting you. Hurting us. She had a terrible choice to make and she did the best she could. Sometimes the best you can do is still fuckin’ bad. That’s something I’ve lately had to think about, long and hard.”

Daryl leaned on his arms, elbows on his thighs, his right arm so close to Rick’s hand he could feel the hair on Rick’s wrist.

“Rick? Daryl? I’m sorry but… we need to make decisions here,” Maggie said.

Daryl hardly dared to look at her. How she could’ve hugged her when he came back, he’d never understand. Icy shivers ran through him and he was cold again. Cold, except for Rick’s palm, the one warm batch. Maybe Rick sensed something -- Daryl had no other explanation for it -- because the older man inched closer. Close enough that their arms and thighs were touching. It helped. He wasn’t alone.

“Of course. I’m sorry, we just had stuff to discuss,” Rick said calmly. He cleared his throat. “Daryl’s escaped, and one of Negan’s men is dead. It’s likely he suspects someone helped Daryl get out, so he’s probably raising hell at Sanctuary. Sooner or later though, he’ll come looking for Daryl, and we have to decide one thing: will that be the moment when we make our stand? And if it’s not, and we’ll continue pretending to play along while we gather our forces, what about Daryl? He can’t be found. It’s just… He can’t be found, and that’s all there is to it.”

Michonne was eyeing them both, face inscrutable, and for some reason Daryl felt the weight of Rick’s hand hundredfold.

“Negan is already watching Alexandria and Hilltop,” Jesus said in his soft, calm voice. “It would be the end of Alexandria if Daryl were to be found there. And it wouldn’t go much better at Hilltop either, especially if they found Maggie at the same time. What I’m suggesting is we contact the Kingdom. The King is not interested in joining the fight and they’ve managed to keep things fairly...amicable… with the Saviors. Ezekiel is on our side however, and I think we could ask if Daryl could stay with them.”

“How long would he have to stay there?” Tara asked, uncertain and frowning.

“As long as it takes for us to get ready to make our stand. A few weeks. A few months. Who knows, maybe he could turn Ezekiel to our way of thinking.” 

Jesus finally looked at Daryl who was watching the younger man in disbelief. All the hard-earned warmth vanished. He hoped nobody could see it but he sensed the tremors in his body, and he had to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. 

The other man went on, addressing Daryl. “I know you’d want to be more active with the preparations but if we got the Kingdom to join the war, it could be the most important preparation of all.”

_...'Cause the world is 'bout a treat_

_When you're on easy street..._

Daryl felt faint. The music...wasn’t real, right?

Rick squeezed his knee again, and voiced his opinion.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Just...no?”

“Oh, it wasn’t ‘just’ a no. It was an absolute, a fuckin’ over-my-dead-body kind of a no. N - freakin’ - O. Do I make myself clear?”

Everyone was silent. The only sound Daryl heard was the whooshing and thumping in his head.

Michonne sniffed. “Care to elaborate?”

“Not really. Should I? Is this really not clear to everyone?”

Michonne smiled, a tiny, cold smile. “No, it’s not clear to everyone, obviously. Otherwise I’m sure Jesus wouldn’t have made his suggestion. Which is a really good one. Daryl would be safe in the Kingdom. And I’m sure he could be as… could be persuasive there.”

Daryl happened to be looking at Tara. Her brow was furrowed and she glanced at Michonne, then at Daryl, and when she noticed Daryl watching her, she gave him a tiny shrug, as if to say ‘I don’t know what the heck is going on with her!’

He’d never been friends with Michonne. They’d gotten along, yes, fought well together, but the only thing they’d really had in common had been their loyalty to Rick. He hadn’t known she _disliked_ him though -- when had that happened? He’d been gone for weeks (months?), for fuck’s sake! And what was it with the attitude towards Rick?

Now that the worst was over -- Rick’s firm ‘no’ having played a large part in it -- Daryl understood that Jesus hadn’t tried to hurt him. The guy barely knew him, and still he’d helped him escape, stayed with him constantly on the way to Hilltop and at Hilltop. He was trying to help both Daryl and the war effort with his shrewd suggestion, nothing more sinister.

But Michonne? Going against Rick like that? And the tone she’d used...the falter that had sounded weirdly deliberate… Daryl had no idea what it all meant. He just knew they were discussing his future -- deciding if they’d leave him in a place where he wouldn’t know anyone, where he’d be away from his family AGAIN

> _(ohmygod they’re leaving you again this is funny! it seems you’re expendable how nice to see you please go away again this is so funny!)_

_but Rick had said NO so SHUT THE FUCK UP!_

Rick’s voice was just as cold as Michonne’s. His grip on Daryl’s knee was bordering on painful but Daryl didn’t give a shit.

“Do I need to remind you that we’re not fighting for a faceless cause, even if it is a good one? We’re not fighting for a ‘greater good’. We’re fighting for each and every single PERSON, and the moment we forget it is the moment we become Negan.”

Daryl closed his eyes, rested on the passion of Rick’s voice. This, _this_ he remembered.

“We’re talking about a person’s unforeseeable future as if that person wasn’t here. As if he were a thing, to be moved around for the ‘greater good’. Well, just so you know, we will do that OVER MY DEAD BODY,” Rick thundered. Tara twitched, and the passionate bellow got even Sasha briefly out of her grief/fury haze.

“We’re talking about a person without whom NOT A SINGLE ONE OF US would be alive today. He’s been with me longer than ANY ONE of you, Carl excepted.” 

Rick paused. When he continued, he was calm again but just as firm.

“And what’s more, we’re talking about a person who was taken from his family in the most horrible circumstances, and I pray we can NOT imagine the things he’s had to endure during this time. Not knowing if he’s ever going to be with us again. Not knowing if his family is even still alive. And yet, he never lost his resolve. He didn’t give in. He grabbed the one chance he was given, and he’s back with us. And what do we suggest less than 48 hours later? That he’s carted off somewhere like a...a parcel. Separated from his family _again_ , and expected to be _ever so useful_ ,” Rick’s voice was oozing with sarcasm. “I’m inclined to think he’s saved our sorry asses enough times already to earn himself some FUCKING TIME WITH HIS FAMILY. Right?”

The silence was stunned. Michonne’s face was wooden but the others… 

_-Maggie, Jesus, Tara, Carl-_

Maggie blinked. She kept losing herself in a haze of bitter numbness. It was difficult to stay focused, even though there was nothing as important as to plan for Negan’s downfall. Her jaw tightened once again at the thought of that man. Her father would frown upon the amount of hate she had in her heart. But her father wasn’t there, now was he? He’d been cruelly executed by another human monster, just like Glenn.

She surfaced to follow the conversation, to invite Rick’s participation. Daryl kept his eyes on the ground, barely dared to look her way. She hoped that some day he would forgive himself. She, on the other hand, had nothing to forgive. She missed Glenn with all her soul but losing him wasn’t Daryl’s fault.

Seeing the two men like that, sitting side by side, talking in intense whispers, gave her solace. Everything had gone to hell on that clearing, ripped their family apart, and nothing had since been how it used to be. But now, Daryl was back where he belonged -- with his family, by Rick’s side. 

Everything would never be how it used to be. But it made her breathe just a little bit easier that _something_ was.

*

Jesus tilted his head and watched the discussion, raised his eyebrow at Rick’s angry speech. He still didn’t know these new people very well, it took time to sift through the vague waves of dynamics between them. When he saw the reactions to his suggestion about the Kingdom, he was ashamed even though he knew there was no need. He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. He liked Daryl. But apparently liking someone only got you so far. You had to understand them as well. And there was something going on, something simmering in the dark eyes of the woman with the katana. Something rippling between the hunter and the leader and the samurai.

He’d keep his eyes open. He didn’t want to make other blunders, for one. And in any case, plotting against someone like Negan was dangerous enough without internal squabbles gnawing at the foundations.

*

Tara’s cheeks were wet with tears. She’d always been drawn to the taciturn archer for some reason, and she knew Denise had valued his company. She’d missed Daryl terribly. Animosity oozed from Michonne, and Tara had only the vaguest idea of the reasons. She knew Daryl didn’t intend it to show, but the questioning look he threw at her wasn’t just baffled, it was hurt. She didn’t know how to help the man -- the only answer she might have was yet another riddle.

*

Nobody had really paid attention to Carl with all this Savior business going on, not before he’d escaped with Jesus and come back with Negan. He felt like he’d aged years during these past months. He and Daryl, his dad too perhaps, were the only people there who knew what it felt like to be subjected to Negan. The nightmarish alternate universe where laws of nature applied only if Negan let them.

He had no idea how Daryl had survived those months. Not the torture ‘cause, y’know, Daryl was a badass -- but the loneliness. The _not knowing_. Carl was glad his father shouted like that, let the others have it, lectured them like school children. 

This world took a lot from them as it was. It’d ripped their family apart, thanks to walkers and governors and negans. Why the hell should they do it to themselves? Hand Daryl over to strangers voluntarily? There’s no way to put a kind spin on that. 

If the grown-ups couldn’t handle this, then he would. 

_-Daryl-_

Rick looked at each person one at a time, pinning them with his gaze. Then he turned to Daryl, moved his hand to his friend’s shoulder. “This concerns you. What do you think of all this? Where would you like to stay? And do you… do you think we stand a chance against the Saviors?”

Daryl hated this. Hated to be the one everybody was looking at. He barely remembered the time weeks (months?) ago -- the time when he’d been used to it, used to being looked at, listened to. But Rick had spoken for him, so he had to do his part.

He rolled his shoulders -- Rick gripped him tighter, not wanting to let go -- and looked up, searched for friendly faces. Tara. Jesus. Carl. Enid, maybe. Even Maggie, though he didn’t get why. Rosita, Sasha, he didn’t know them so well, but perhaps… He straightened his back. Negan hadn’t broken him. Neither would this.

“Ain’t gonna be easy, beatin’ them. They’re pretty organized, and there’s a lot of them. At least a hundred fighters, with guns. Outposts too, dunno how many for sure...we took down one, an’ I’m guessin’ there may be two or three more.” Daryl paused. This was difficult. “That ain’t the worst though. It’s Negan himself. He’s totally unpredictable and, and, just...bad. Dunno a word for it,” he went on, frustrated. “Devious. Evil. Manipulates everyone, his own people too. Worst I’ve ever met, an’ trust me, I’ve met some pretty nasty people.”

Daryl had to stop again, gather his thoughts.

“You can still win. The bigger they are, the harder they fall, right? They’re not supermen, they can be killed. You just...just have to try to think like them. Like Negan. Be as cunning as he is. If you can do that, then there’s a real chance. But the second you think you can win him in a fair fight, it’s over.”

Rick’s palm was warm and firm, long fingers moving gently, brushing lightly. 

“I... don’t wanna go to the Kingdom. Really don’t.”

> _(don’t send me away don’t send me away aaaahahaaa they’re gonna send you away that’s so funny!)_

Daryl swallowed. It was hard to talk. Rick’s hand traveled to his other shoulder; now his arm was wrapped around him. That gave him the energy to keep his eyes up, meet the gazes of others. When his eyes drifted over to Tara, he noticed her frown and glance back and forth between Michonne and the two of them. He decided to talk with her later. Maybe he’d get a better idea of what had happened here.

“I can take care of myself. I’ll stay on the fringes of Alexandria or Hilltop -- don’t wanna put you in danger. Just… don’t send me away.” There. He’d said it. His voice hadn’t shaken, his gaze hadn’t wavered. 

Silence. Then an unexpected voice.

“Dad?... Daryl?”

Surprised, both men looked at Carl. “Yes, son?” Rick said, the tone a mixture of kindness and impatience.

“Daryl, you’re not going anywhere. You’re staying with us. We’re NOT sending him away,” Carl said, turning to the others, tone mirroring his dad’s decisiveness. “If we’re sending him to the Kingdom ‘cause we’re too scared to have him with us, then...then that’s not something I wanna be a part of. If Daryl’s gonna hover outside Alexandria just ‘cause we’re too chicken to find a way for him to stay in it, I’m going with him.” He paused to look at Rick. “I mean it, dad. This can’t be what we wanna be. We don’t abandon our family. Again,” he added pointedly. 

“I’ve got an idea, though,” he continued. “We’ve been exploring, Enid and me, and d’you know there’s a whole network of sewers below Alexandria? Parts of it are, well, not _nice_ as such, but habitable. Like living in a cave, y’know? Daryl could stay there. He could be out most of the time, at least after a while, and if Negan’s people come, it’d be easy to slip down there. And if we just keep the lids looking like nobody’s touched them for ages, I bet they’d never think to look down there.”

The grown-ups were staring at Carl. Daryl felt a small flicker of hope. That sounded almost too good to be true…

“For real, kid?” he said in his gravelly voice.

“For real.” The tone brooked no argument.

Daryl looked around. Saw Tara’s face, saw her eager nods, heard her chirp, “Sounds good!” 

He turned his eyes at Rick who was watching him. 

“I want to keep you close to us,” the leader said in a quiet voice. “How about it? Probably wouldn’t be comfy but this situation with Negan, it’s gotta end one way or the other, and sooner rather than later, so any which way this goes, the sewers wouldn’t be for long. But they’d keep you safe for now. And close.”

The hunter saw nothing but sincerity and hope in Rick’s eyes. He glanced at Carl -- the boy looked back, gave a small nod. Moving on to Tara, who was still nodding like a maniac; to Maggie, whose eyes were sad but encouraging. He looked back to Rick, didn’t quite know how to feel about the love of his family after the weeks (months?) of finding nothing but hatred around him. 

_-Rick-_

Rick held his breath. Michonne...hadn’t been a surprise, really, but he saw how confused Daryl had been. He’d have to deal with that later. _Carl_ , on the other hand, had been a surprise, but the kind that filled a father’s soul with such pride he thought he could burst. His son was growing up to be a fine man, with a compassionate heart and a good head on his shoulders. 

But what would Daryl say? The hunter was closed up, curled up inside himself, like an injured animal burrowed somewhere to lick its wounds. Rick had never imagined any one of them would suggest whisking Daryl of all people away from them -- he was ready to overlook Jesus since the man just didn’t, couldn’t, understand their history with Daryl. Michonne, though… but he’d come back to that, later. 

Daryl was tough, hadn’t shown anything, but Rick had had his hand on him, had felt him react, his muscles tremble. Rick understood. It was easy to resist an enemy. Much harder to face coldness from a friend.

The archer’s gaze was drifting from person to person. Rick saw people smile and nod. Daryl turned his eyes back to him; didn’t look at Michonne. Again, understandable. His fringe had fallen on his eyes, making it hard to see their expression, and Rick had to fight against the impulse to brush the offending strands away. But Daryl took care of it himself, shook his head making the locks fly aside just enough so that Rick saw his narrowed eyes looking back at him, wary and hopeful and something else, too, but Rick didn’t have a name for it.

The man was beyond words now, it seemed. The answer was a repeat of the one before, something so familiar even from before prison that tenderness flooded through him. Daryl’s nod with a half-shrug was inimitable, the equivalent of a hesitant but acquiescing “well, okay then, I can live with that”. Whole conversations had been conducted with eyes, tilts, nods, shakes and shrugs, and they’d never misunderstood each other. Not once.

With words, it had never been as easy, and Rick had been through enough over these last months to accept the bulk of the blame for it. He’d come back to that, later, as well.

_-Daryl-_

Words choked in his throat. His body gave the shrug of its own accord, and the small smile on Rick’s face told him that the man had understood.

Rick turned to the others.

“It’s settled then. We’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning. Now, let’s plan.”

*****

Daryl woke up with a start, for a second confused as to where he was. It was dark, but he could discern the edges of a window and he was lying on something soft, so...

...not the Sanctuary cell. A Hilltop house. A real bed. And the thing that had woken him up had been a friendly touch, not a blaring song, drilling into his brain, the macabre perkiness scratching his soul. No. It was silent now, and he’d have recognized the silhouette of the person standing by him anywhere, anytime.

“You were having a nightmare,” Rick said, matter-of-fact. The way things were, they all had those so there was nothing very remarkable in it. Daryl sat up a bit, leaned on his elbow, ran his fingers through his bangs. He sighed.

“I’s loud?”

“Kinda. My room’s the next one, and I don’t really sleep much these days, so I don’t think anyone else had time to wake up. Don’t worry. You know how it is.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re shivering.” Again the same calm tone. Observing, not pitying. Rick knew.

“Yeah.”

“Ain’t cold in here.”

“It ain’t about that.”

Silence. Then Rick drew a deep breath and sat down on the bed. Daryl flopped back on the pillow. Rick just sat there, elbows on his thighs, hunched. He glanced at the younger man.

“Y’know, I was gonna say ‘you wanna tell me about it?’ but I won’t ‘cause you wouldn’t want to, and that ain’t a good idea. I think you _need_ to, whether you want to or not. So please, tell me. Tell me _something_. Get it out. One word a day, don’t care, as long as you get that crap out of your system.”

Daryl chuckled, a low, hoarse, humorless chuckle. “Shit, Grimes, ya know me too well.”

He couldn’t see much in the darkness but he lay his arm over his eyes anyway. Easier to talk. ‘cause he would. ‘cause Rick asked. And he’d already screwed up enough things.

“‘m cold all the time.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t get to wear much for weeks. How long was I gone, anyhow?”

“Three months. What d’you mean, wear much?”

“I mean, nothin’. Wear much of nothin’. And them cellar boxes didn’t exactly have central heatin’.”

 _“What?”_ Rick’s tone was...appalled. Yes, that’s the word. Appalled. Like he could still be surprised by something a fellow human being could do.

“Ain’t been warm since. Not that generous with food either. Or sleep.” It was just like Daryl had feared: he started talking, he wouldn’t stop. He had to. Wasn’t fair to dump it on Rick. So he shut up. Should’ve known Rick wouldn’t have any of that. 

“Just keep going, Daryl, please… let me help you. Couldn’t do it before, and that’s a mistake I’ll regret for the rest of my life, but please let me be here for you now. Make it up to you, even a little.”

So Daryl told him some of it. About Easy Street. Dog food. No clothes. The first ‘escape’, the trap, the taunts, the beatings, the casual cruelty, Dwight. Photos of Glenn. Losing track of time, of days and weeks and months. 

He tried to talk as little as possible, be economical with words, but still it took what felt like hours. Sun was coming up by the time Daryl decided this was enough. For now. Maybe forever.

He didn’t say anything about the trip to Alexandria. He still couldn’t deal with that. Seeing Rick. Having Rick see him like that.

He didn’t say anything about the claustrophobia, either. Couldn’t form the words. He’d been outdoors for most of his life, quite literally, ever since he learned how to walk. Hell, who’d wanna be trapped within four walls with a dad like theirs? So having been shut in like that, it had-

Daryl’s mind slammed the door on that train of thought. But that only opened a window somewhere else, it seemed, because along swarmed shapeless, wordless feelings of abandonment, being alone, being left behind, being a toy and a pawn for an uneasy peace

> _(nobody said anything nobody went against michonne except rick and carl nobody nobody wanted you back whole communities were safe with you locked up you don’t belong you killed glenn you you your stupid temper made maggie widow her child orphan your stupid escape will kill everyone nobody came to get you selfish weak weak weak you should just leave)_

“SHUT UP!”

The sound of his own voice snapped him out of it. Then came the shivering. He was reeling from the onslaught of hate and scorn his own mind sent his way. He fought, tried to force himself to calm down, but his teeth were chattering and his arm, still on his face, trembled with cold. He’d never wanted Rick to see him fall apart like this, after what he’d said the day before about Daryl not giving in, all that shit.

“Ok. Ok. Daryl, we have to get you warm. Your skin is cold and I don’t like that shivering. Ok. Please don’t freak out now, ‘m just gonna warm you up.”

Rick pulled Daryl’s arm down from his face and settled on the bed beside him. Wrapped the blanket tight around them both and took him in his arms. Daryl couldn’t help himself, he curled up as close as possible, his hand on Rick’s back, Rick’s heat radiating through the thin t-shirt.

“Jesus Christ, your skin is like ice,” Rick muttered, flinching from the touch, but he pulled and wiggled and tugged so that finally there was a maximum amount of Rick against Daryl. Warming him up. Grounding the tremors away.

Dimly, he heard a knock on the door, he heard it open, a voice -- Tara maybe? -- ask something, weren’t they supposed to leave? 

He heard Rick’s calm voice sending that person away. He heard the door shut. He felt the steady warmth of Rick’s hand on his back.

They rested there for a long while. Daryl didn’t know what to say. What can you say after something like that? _Sorry I yelled at a devil inside my head? Sorry I can’t control my fuckin’ muscles? Sorry I’m pathetic an’ needy an’ a fuckin’ mess? Sorry you lost your night’s sleep, an’ you have other stuff to take care of like a fuckin’ war with fuckin’ Negan but instead you’re stuck here babyin’ a middle-aged man, for fuck’s sake?_

 _Yes, that would really take care of it._

Rick knew what to say, though. He always did, somehow.

“It’s ok if you’re not ok. After what you told me -- and I bet that wasn’t all of it -- I’m amazed you’re not full-on mental. Come on, Daryl, give yourself a break… anyone else would’ve died there, or been broken, become Negan, or killed themselves. You escaped, came all the way up here; you’re walking and talking and making absolute sense. So you have nightmares, and I’m guessing this here was a...a...what’re they called now… panic attack, or something. What I’ve heard, it’s not uncommon to suffer from something like this after something like that. You’d be inhuman if you didn’t react! Just...give yourself a break. Let me help. Carl too. Tara, she missed you so much you wouldn’t believe, she’ll want to help. All this, it’ll pass. It’ll get easier. You’re strong, so unbelievably strong, remember that, please.”

Rick stroked Daryl’s hair while he was speaking. Soothing strokes, calm voice, words that kind of made sense, now that he thought about it. He imagined this being the other way around, or him comforting Carol for something like this… Rick’s words could’ve been _his_ words -- he wouldn’t have thought Rick or Carol weak, he would’ve wanted to help them through it.

So maybe he could just let this be. Wait it out. Rip the voice inside his head out by its roots so it wouldn’t make him doubt his family again. What had happened, had happened, and everyone had tried their best. And it wasn’t like all his own choices had always brought the best results so fuck if he had the right to second-guess the choices Rick and the others had made under the circumstances. Under Negan, in the twilight zone that was the reality he’d forged.

He moved a bit, he wanted to be able to look at Rick. The other man met his gaze, blue eyes tired but bright as ever.

“Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome. You wanna tell me what the shouting was about?”

Daryl looked at Rick steadily, all calm now, all warm.

“Nah. Not now.” Pause. “Sorry I kept you awake.”

Rick was still watching him, eyes bright and a tiny upwards quirk on the corners of his mouth. 

Daryl was tired and his eyes were resting on Rick’s face and his mind was running every which way, stray thoughts skipping like bunnies... and then one of those thoughts declared that if it had been Daryl himself, looking at someone the way Rick was now looking at him, that expression would’ve meant ‘there’s no place I’d rather be’... 

But it was such a crazy thought it made the corner of his mouth twitch with amusement. Rick noticed it, of course he did, and maybe he thought it was a good sign because he smiled, not just his mouth but his eyes too and it looked...nice.

So fuckin’ nice.

“Nothing to be sorry about. I got to spend time with you after the horrible three months without you around. I was too worried about you to enjoy this properly so the next time we spend the night together I want us to have some fun-”

Right then Rick’s brain caught up with what he was blabbing, and his mouth snapped shut. He cleared his throat. 

Daryl bit his lip. This was the first time since...since this Savior business started, that he genuinely felt like laughing out loud. Rick’s expression was absolutely priceless.

“That...came out wrong.”

Daryl laughed. Out loud. A low rumble from deep within.

Rick smiled. “Well, if that’s the result, it was well worth making myself sound like an idiot.”

“Yes, _dear_.”

“Goddamn comedian,” Rick grumbled and got up. He turned to look at Daryl. “I’m gonna go get dressed. You should too, we’ll be leaving soon.” He paused, looked confused for a second, then smiled, and quick as a lightning leaned down and pressed his lips on Daryl’s cheek, right on the mole on the corner of his mouth. His lips lingered for a few heartbeats. Then he was up again and strolling towards the door.

“Get your ass in gear, _honey_.”

Daryl would’ve preferred to reply with a juicy comeback but he got nothing. The simple kiss had taken care of any temperature issues -- Daryl was warming up like a fucking furnace. For a glorious moment he forgot all about Negan, humiliations, insecurities. Everything in him revolved around the kiss. What had that been about? They’d joked around before, there had been pats on the back, hugs, concerned touches after fights. There’d never been kisses of any kind, joking or otherwise. Just not...done, somehow.

Apparently the rulebook had been rewritten during Daryl’s absence.

_-Rick-_

Rick closed the door in his room and leaned on it. He replayed the last ten minutes in his mind. How the hell had he thought it would be ok to kiss his friend like that? _Oh, and while we’re wondering about that, let’s also discuss the matter of the babble I spurted out._

Daryl had _just_ come back from the worst thing he’d ever experienced. He’d _just_ come through hours of nightmares and talking, which for someone like Daryl was pretty much one and the same. He’d _just_ spent an hour in bed wrapped around another _man_ , and said man had then proceeded to spout what was essentially a piece of cringy flirting, and as a cherry on top, the guy -- his friend, his community leader, his self-proclaimed brother -- had kissed him.

The hunter hadn’t seemed to mind the inadvertent flirting, thank God; he’d laughed, and that had kind of been at the root of the second problem. Rick had held the man, felt him, cold and hot, tense and relaxed, and it had been fine. Very fine. Actually, really fucking fine. If they hadn’t been on a clock, he would’ve wanted to stay there -- nothing bad in comforting a _friend_ , right? 

But then something had just jumped out of his mouth, he’d misspoken, and yes it had been amusing but… suddenly he’d got his wires crossed or something, ‘cause looking at the other man lying there, relaxed, shaggy hair spread on the pillow, eyes crinkled for once for joy, not wariness or vigilance... he’d been confused, somehow, remembered arguments with Michonne, aggravating and frustrating quarrels ‘cause he hadn’t agreed with any of what Michonne had said, and surely it had nothing to do with...that… but if so, then why…

And that’s when he’d kissed him. 

He stopped his speeding train of thought right there. He’d apologize later. He’d say the joke had gone too far and he was sorry if it had been awkward for Daryl. He’d do that. Now, he’d concentrate on the trip to Alexandria. It’d be a dangerous journey, Negan’s men might already lie in wait, full of vindictiveness, ready to rip first Daryl, then the others, to pieces. They’d have to trust Carl’s ability to remember where the access to the sewers was on the outside; they’d have to get Daryl to safety before strolling back in through the gates. He had no time to waste on pointless regrets about his juvenile behavior. And most especially he didn’t have time to have a closer look at the _very_ juvenile regret of not having aimed just a tiny bit down and to the left… 

Rick shook his head, upset with himself, finally facing the facts. He hated that Michonne had been right. He hated that he’d have to _tell_ her she’d been right. That conversation wouldn’t go down well with her. The mere satisfaction of being able to say _I told you_ so wouldn’t make Michonne forgive the original problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins: what originally started as a short-ish, self-indulgent, angry fix-it for a storyline I *never* approved of. Months and months later, I'm 79k words and 13 chapters in something that just grew...  
> That said, all the plans are ready, and 15 chapters is what it will be. Heads-up: the chapter lengths are all over the place, ranging from a bit less than 3000 to a little over 10k...
> 
> Another heads-up & fair warning: do note that this *is* season seven. Won't all be fluff and stuff&thangs. 
> 
> Also all the regular disclaimers about not owning TWD, English not being my first language, etc etc etc -- y'all know the drill ;) And a great big thank you for my lovely, dedicated beta <3
> 
> Have fun, my darling fellow TWD & Rickyl fans <3 <3


	2. Back to Alexandria

_-Daryl-_

It would take three days to get to Alexandria, at the rate they were going. They’d never moved more carefully, scouting ahead the whole time, taking every precaution.

They had brought supplies from Hilltop, trying to avoid the necessity to build a fire. The weather was mild, they didn’t need fire to keep them warm. So Daryl simply gritted his teeth and ploughed on, tried to keep himself from shivering by moving as much as possible. Sometimes he sensed Rick’s eyes on him, but every time he looked back, the other man was already looking elsewhere.

It wasn’t like Rick was avoiding him, no. He was just a bit awkward, and Daryl put it down to the kiss which Rick obviously was very much regretting. Daryl couldn’t see why he should. It hadn’t _meant_ anything, right? During the walker years, Daryl had noticed that some people were more...uninhibited… after a stressful event. He’d had plenty of opportunities to observe these things, after all, the state of the world being what it was. But the kiss had been just a peck on the cheek ( _well, technically not a peck and was it really on the cheek either?_ Daryl’s traitorous brain unhelpfully pointed out). Rick shouldn’t feel bad about it. 

Except it looked like he did, and it took the whole day for Daryl to figure out why.

They were settling down for the night, setting up perimeter alarms, eating, talking in low voices. Daryl put his backpack down against a tree and poked the ground with his foot, just to keep himself moving. Should he pretend to be social and join the others for a moment? Or could he just stay here, wrap a blanket around himself and try to catch a few winks? Not that sleep sounded tempting either, but he knew he needed to rest, goddamn it.

He barely heard the light steps behind him. Not Rick, then; the man still couldn’t sneak for shit. He turned around. Carl peered at him under his hat and smiled shyly. 

“Hey Daryl.”

“Hey kid. What’s up?”

“Nothing. Just… haven’t had a chance to talk with you. It’s always been some meeting or other, or creeping around in the woods, y’know.”

“Somethin’ you wanna talk to me about? How’re things with you an’ Enid, by the way? Wanna tell me about them sewers you two are _explorin’_?” 

Daryl had to grin, the feeling still strange after those months. Like his face had forgotten how to smile. Muscles had a hard time moving his face the right way. But the bright red on Carl’s face was very entertaining, and it felt good to tease the boy the way he’d used to. Almost made things seem normal again.

“Shut up…” Carl muttered, a corner of his mouth twitching a bit. “I _was_ gonna tell you I missed you a lot but I’m starting to have second thoughts…” He was smiling now.

“Missed you too.”

Carl took a step closer, abandoned all caution, and barged straight into Daryl, wrapped his arms around the stunned archer, and hugged the bejesus out of him. Daryl chuckled and hugged him back.

“We allowed to do this now?” Tara’s bright voice and her arms thrown around them both. “Wanted to hug the crap outta you at Hilltop but, y’know, you had that ‘dontcha dare touch me’ look on you so I didn’t. But since Carl’s still alive, I figured what the hell, let’s live dangerously…”

“This a free-for-all or do I have to take a number?” said the dry voice of Rosita, and the next thing Daryl knew was the warm slim body of the gruff fighter against his back, arms curling around his neck.

He didn’t feel like this often. Hell, maybe never -- except a few times _after_ the world had ended which was all kinds of ironic if you thought about it. Just a few times, this unconditional _happiness_. These people, they… kinda _liked_ him, maybe.

And this time the voice in his head stayed silent. Sulking somewhere, most likely, scheming its next attack. But it wasn’t here now, and all Daryl heard was Carl’s chuckles, Tara’s constant prattle, and a choked “Shit, Dixon, you had me worried there for a while” from behind him.

They parted slowly, all of them feeling lighter. Maybe Daryl wasn’t the only one who needed a reminder. That life wasn’t all about nonstop fear and horror -- it was also about friends and hugs and love, and that was what made all the other stuff more bearable.

Daryl slowly followed the others to the opening where they’d sat talking. Michonne was on guard duty which had excused her from the hug extravaganza. Daryl suspected she wouldn’t’ve joined them even if she’d had the chance. _Gotta talk with Tara…_

Rick strolled to him and stopped at a proper distance outside his personal space. “That was quite a scene,” he said, and the warm smile was all Rick. Then the man pat him lightly on the shoulder.

Yes. Fuckin’ _pat_ him on the fuckin’ _shoulder_. What the everlovin’ shit was goin’ on?

Then he got it. Closed his eyes and concentrated. Looked for the goddamn _zen_ he was supposed to have, right?

So, the problem wasn’t Rick having a problem. The problem was that Rick thought Daryl had a problem. What the fuck was this, an episode of some highschool drama show?

“Wanna talk to you,” Daryl snapped, turned around and walked a few steps back to his backpack. Rick trudged behind him until they were a safe distance away from any prying ears.

“I’ve wanted to talk to you, too,” Rick said, his eyes uneasy but meeting Daryl’s. “About this morning. I’ve wanted to say I’m s-”

“If you’re gonna say you’re sorry, I’m gonna punch ya.” Daryl’s voice was an angry hiss. “You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry about. Get over yourself. You did nothin’ wrong.”

Rick stared at him, surprised at Daryl’s vehemence. “You’re not...offended or anything?”

Daryl wanted to laugh but he couldn’t. If he started he would laugh until he cried, and that would be counterproductive to a lot of things, his sanity included.

“Ya think that after Walkers, Woodbury, cannibals an’ Wolves, baseball bats an’ Negan, a tiny peck on my cheek from you’s gonna _break_ me? Get me all _offended?_ Come on, man… An’ it wasn’t like it _meant_ anythin’... just, dunno, ‘I‘m glad you’re not dead’ kind of a thing, y’know. Right? So stop actin’ weird, like, _right now._ One more shitty pat on the shoulder an’ I‘m gonna kick your ass. Got it?”

Rick listened to Daryl’s tirade and his face went through a variety of emotions. Daryl had no idea what any of them meant. He just wanted things back to normal between them. Back to...the kind of normal where Rick didn’t avoid his eyes, didn’t sound awkward talking to him. He didn’t want this version where Rick let everyone else hug him and then came to give him a freakin’ _pat_. He wanted the Rick who sat flush against him, squeezed Daryl’s shoulder, hugged him, stayed up all night talking with him. 

There were other things he wanted as well. Had wanted for a long time. He pushed those things aside with practised ease, perfected over the years. Rick didn’t need to know about any of that, especially now. Oh boy, the man would be horrified. 

“Ok…” Rick said slowly. “If I solemnly swear to not pat you ever again, we’re good?”

Daryl huffed. “Don’t know yet… ‘m mighty offended by the bloody pat…”

Rick chuckled, threw his arm around Daryl’s shoulder and started to lead him back to the others. “This better?”

“Jury’s still out. I can hold a grudge like ya wouldn’t believe.”

_-Rick-_

Two days later, they arrived at the gates of Alexandria in the early afternoon. They had split up; Carl and Rosita had gone with Daryl to find the outer entrance to the sewers. They’d get him settled in some nook, come back out, and then through the gates. The others circled back and took the road back to the gates. When they stepped in, Father Gabriel was there, climbing down from the platform.

“How did it go?” he asked, eager and worried.

Rick smiled a bit wanly. It’d been days since he’d slept properly, and there was so much to discuss.

“It’s on. Hilltop is with us; the Kingdom doesn’t want any part in this but they’re not against us either.”

Michonne strolled by him. “Don’t forget to tell him about your charming little secret.”

Tara froze, eyes flicking to Rick. Gabriel looked after Michonne, frowning. “What secret?”

“You’ll see. We’ll talk about this later.”

*****

Carl and Rosita popped up an hour later. Rick had fallen asleep on the sofa. Carl woke him up. “He’s all set. I’ll take him some stuff later when it’s dark. Are we gonna keep this a secret from the others?”

Rick rubbed his eyes. “At least for the moment. Negan’s bound to come sooner or later, and it’s been almost a week already so probably sooner. And he’s gonna be mad as hell, and I don’t wanna test the backbone of every Alexandrian.” He glanced at his son. “Does that make me a horrible cynic?”

“No. Just a realist. -- You wanna come see where he is? You could come with me tonight?”

“Sure.”

Gabriel, Michonne and Tara walked in. 

“Those plans?” Father Gabriel asked.

It took several hours to repeat everything they’d discussed at Hilltop. Finally, Gabriel leaned back in his chair. “And what about the secret?”

Rick threw a grim look at Michonne. She was staring at him, face unreadable. Tara was sitting opposite Rick, and he sensed her worried eyes on him.

“Well, I’ve decided to keep that secret for a while longer. And I’d appreciate it if none of you even mentioned the possibility of a secret outside this room.”

Gabriel watched him carefully, thoughtfully. “Can I just ask if it’s a pleasant secret?”

“Oh, it’s definitely pleasant.” This time Michonne didn’t even try to conceal the sneer in her voice. Rick bit his lip. Tara’s eyes were wide as saucers. Gabriel kept his face neutral.

Rick cleared his throat and picked his words carefully. “I’m sure everyone will think it’s essentially positive. Some of us -- maybe even most of us -- will think it’s a really welcome thing, and will be very glad.”

Gabriel looked at Michonne who was staring out of the window. He looked at Tara; she nodded at him, smiling, and repeated Rick’s words emphatically, “Very glad.”

“Very well. I’ll trust you on this. You’ve rarely led us wrong.”

Rick scoffed at this, instantly remembering the many mistakes he’d made, but he appreciated the other man’s trust nevertheless.

The priest stood up and left the room. Tara hesitated but followed him. Michonne still sat at the table, staring out of the window.

“I’m glad you stayed. I’ve been meaning to talk to you since the morning we left Hilltop.”

“The morning…? What… you mean something happened _during that night_ that made you want to talk with me?” Michonne’s hands clenched, the only outward sign of the emotion she was battling with.

Rick processed the words and the clenched fists. He sighed. “Not what you think. God no! Why would you even think he’d… no. Not that. Not even close. Just… something happened that made me realize... I’m sorry Michonne. You were right. I don’t understand how that can be -- how _you_ can know something like this and _I_ had no idea…” 

He forced himself to look at Michonne. A part of his penance. He had no right to escape from her steely gaze. 

“... You were right. And I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry I misled you. In my defence, I was misleading myself as well, not that that’s supposed to make you feel better. I’m just saying how it is. I _didn’t know_. I know you don’t believe me. It’s true, though. I would never, never, do something like that on purpose. Come on, Michonne, you know me better than that! I can be stupid and thoughtless and impulsive but have you ever known me to be a...a... _heel?_ ”

Michonne didn’t say anything. She was looking at Rick, her fists relaxing slowly.

“Maybe you can’t forgive me. But please, don’t take this out on people whose fault this is NOT. This is not his fault, he’s not responsible for how I am or feel. It’s not the fault of the people here either, so please, please don’t go around hinting at secrets, it’ll just put us all in danger for nothing. Nobody needs to know he’s here, not until we’re ready for it. Until that day comes, Michonne, please…”

Michonne still didn’t say anything. Her long fingers were resting on the tabletop. Rick’s heart ached. She really was beautiful through and through; he’d genuinely been attracted to her back when it’d started. Strong, intelligent, resilient, loyal, brave. Ironically, those seemed to be the qualities that attracted Rick -- he could easily name another person who had the same attributes. The same fierce temper, too. He didn’t tell this to Michonne, though, because he wasn’t _that_ stupid.

“You really didn’t know?” Her voice was soft, baffled.

“I really, really didn’t. I thought you were crazy, I had no idea where you got your absurd impression that...y’know. I just thought you were angry and wanted to lash out and hit me where it hurt the most.” Rick chuckled sadly. “And I never thought to ask myself _why_ it hurt the most.”

“You’re together?” A dose of the old steel in her tone.

“What? No! He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t _need_ to know, Michonne. It’s not _his_ problem. I don’t want to lose my friend… please Michonne, please stop dropping hints and all that. Isn’t it hard enough for him as it is, without complicating matters? He needs my help now, he needs me close, like, physically close, and he’s never been close like that to anyone but me and Carol, and who knows where Carol is, and that’s another thing, another person who’s left him, and then I… you were right about that too, y’know, we should’ve done something way earlier… anyway, he needs me now and if he knows, he won’t want me there anymore and then what? Then what happens, huh? You didn’t see him that night, you don’t know…” 

Rick ran out of words. He’d explained it badly, he knew it, but he was anxious and worried and dead tired and scared for all their lives and apparently in love with his best friend, so _excuse me if I’m not at my best rhetoric level right now!_

“It’s amazing just how stupid you can be and still be a sort of functioning adult, even a community leader,” Michonne said, her tone gentle this time.

“What?” His eloquence had really taken a hit.

“Nothing.” Michonne stood up. “I’m still mad at you, but perhaps I made a mistake… looks like you really didn’t get it which means you didn’t do it on purpose which means… that we’ll be ok at some point, probably.”

She walked to the door. “I’ll behave. No hints. No standing in your way.”

Rick snorted. “What ‘ _way’?_ Thanks though.”

Michonne looked back over her shoulder; frustration, amusement even, evident on her face. “Too bad all the seeing eye dogs are gone. You’re so blind it’s a wonder you’re not tripping over your feet on a regular basis.” She left, and Rick heard her open the front door and go out. 

He stared after her, frowning. “...What?”


	3. Keep your friends close

_-Daryl-_

He heard footsteps, two sets of them. It was probably Carl with someone, but you couldn’t be too careful, so he scrambled behind a corner with his knife and lay in wait. The lantern… fuck.

“Daryl? ‘s ok, it’s just me and Carl.”

The hunter stepped forward. “Light’s a problem if someone finds me.”

Rick nodded. “We’ll just have to make sure no-one does. We brought you a few flashlights. The batteries have to be recharged, though, but that shouldn’t be a problem. It’s not like we’re gonna leave you for days without coming down here.”

Carl and Rick put three backpacks down. “There’s all sorts of stuff. Food, water, clothes, your spare crossbow. Carl insisted so there’s also some comic books…”

“Good thinkin’, kid.”

“...and I’ll bring you a mattress as well.”

“All the comforts of home.” Cheeky comment aside, Daryl was actually pretty near happy. He was home; well, technically _under_ it, but still. He could see his friends all the time now, and he had every intention of going out whenever he could, outside the city, maybe in it too, when things had cooled down a bit. And when they’d make their move on the Saviors, he’d be right here, ready to fight side by side with his family.

They didn’t stay long; Rick promised to return in a minute with the mattress.

It wasn’t much longer than that. He came back, and they made the bed with sheets and blankets from the third backpack. Daryl sat on his bed and leaned on the cold wall. He knew it was late, they’d barely had any sleep for several nights… but he didn’t look forward to being cooped up in here through the night. It wasn’t like it was any different in there during the day, but at least he knew there was life and movement and talking above his quiet cave. Now, everyone was asleep, it’d be dark both inside and outside.

Rick must’ve seen something. He opened his mouth, closed it again, his jaw moved as if he was trying out different phrases.

“I don’t wanna leave you here alone,” was what he chose to say. 

“Ain’t a kid, Rick. Don’t need anyone to hold my hand,” Daryl said but he was too tired and too scared of the night to put any real scorn in his voice. He just wanted to get this over with. Rick would leave and he’d spend the night here, that was all there was to it. He’d slept in worse places. Here he’d be safe, he had a mattress and everything. It was just… 

“I know you don’t. I just don’t feel comfortable knowing you have no-one here.”

“I have all of you up there. Believe me, that’s a hell of an upgrade compared to the Sanctuary…”

He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. 

“You mind if I sit with you for a while?”

“Nah. Sit all you like.” It was hard to keep the ridiculous contentment off his voice. Rick sat down, leaned back, sighed. Their arms were touching; warmth spread all over Daryl, soothing and exciting. 

_-Rick-_

Rick woke up. His back was aching and his legs were numb. Disoriented, he looked around, saw the dim lantern, the backpacks, and remembered where he was. He looked to his left. Daryl was sleeping, lying on the mattress, head on the pillow, legs stretched over Rick’s which explained the numbness. Rick watched him sleep for a long while, didn’t move an inch, didn’t want to disturb him.

_This is what I meant. This is what I might lose if he knew._

It wasn’t that he thought Daryl had a problem with gays. Rick knew for a fact that he didn’t. Hell, Aaron was Daryl’s good friend, and he seemed to get along fine nowadays with that Jesus fellow, even though they’d been off to a rocky start, to put it mildly. He spent time with Aaron and Eric, had dinners together, and that one time they’d had a party and the couple had kissed in public -- they had all been pretty drunk and there’d been a lot of kissing going on, with silly cheers and clapping of hands -- Rick had happened to look at Daryl and seen him watching the couple, drinking his beer, eyes narrowed in smile. 

So… why exactly was Rick so sure their friendship would suffer if Daryl somehow found out?

Rick blamed his sleep-deprived brain but right now he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember the reason. Just how little did he trust in their friendship?

Still, better not to risk it. Daryl had enough stuff to deal with as it was without the knowledge that his best friend was mooning over him, for Christ’s sake. Negan would be here any day now, and in a few weeks all hell would break loose. _Really_ not the time to put any extra pressure on Daryl. No energy to spend in getting over the inevitable awkward phase, the recalibration of their friendship.

Rick lifted Daryl’s legs aside and stood up, thighs trembling from numbness. He looked down; Daryl moved in his sleep, curled up like a cat, and his fringe fell over his eyes. Rick stared, crouched down, almost brushed the locks aside, then thought better of it. The hunter might wake up and the man needed his sleep. Rick let his eyes wander over the other man’s face like he was trying to memorize it. Daryl sniffed in his sleep, crinkled his nose, and Rick was overrun by a tidal wave of tenderness. It hit him so hard he gasped, closed his eyes, and a barrage of swearwords flocked in his mind.

He was so screwed.

_-Daryl-_

_It's our moment in the sun_

_And it's only just begun_

_It's time to have a little fun_

Daryl snapped awake, senses alert, blood whooshing and thumping and booming in his head. Did he really hear it? Was it real?

He sat up quickly, turned to lean back on the wall, tried to calm down, so that he could _listen_.

Nothing. 

He breathed. In, and out, and in. _Calm the fuck down now!_

He looked around. Rick was gone. He’d no idea what had happened, how he’d fallen asleep like that, or when Rick had left.

_Don’t make this into some big drama_ , he scolded himself. _It’s not like he_ **_left_** _, he just went to sleep in his own bed._

He wondered if he dared to go have a peek outside.

He took a few bites of bread and drank some water, then he grabbed a flashlight and his crossbow and knife, and walked the long way back to the outer entrance. He listened carefully, pushed aside the metal grating, and slithered outside silent as a ghost. 

The sun was up; the wind brought the smell of woods and the chirp of birds to him. _God I missed this_. Then a different sound caught his attention and he peeked over the edge of the trench, through the overgrown cluster of shrubbery and weeds, towards Alexandria. A dozen cars were honking, a constant angry, aggravating blare, and Daryl was doubling back before he even had consciously grasped the situation.

The Saviors. 

Negan.

Daryl pulled the grating back carefully, and retreated back to his lair. This cowering behind other people’s backs didn’t sit well with him but what could he do? If they caught him, Negan would slaughter the town, would spare no-one. Being here put everyone at risk, but no use dwelling over that, he was here and that was it, so the only thing to do was to Not. Get. Caught! Simple as that. They had known Negan would be coming, nothing new there, the others were prepared. Right?

And one day they’d bring the whole pack of brutes down. They would. Daryl wondered if maybe he’d get to be the one to kill Negan. He would enjoy every minute of it, seeing the life wither up and die in his eyes.

If that made him the monster of this story, so be it.

He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them. Tried to keep himself from shivering. All he could do now was wait. 

_-Rick-_

They didn’t get much advance warning; Michonne ran to their house, bellowing “Negan’s coming!”, and that was what woke him up. The idea of Negan at his doorstep and Daryl only a few hundred yards away effectively drove off the grogginess in record time. He hadn’t undressed, so he just put his boots on and ran downstairs, just in time to flinch at the annoying noise of the horns.

“He does like to make an entrance,” he muttered to Michonne, who was waiting for him at the front door.

Carl came down right behind Rick, looking grim and determined. “Time to start the show.”

Rick smiled a dark little smile. “We haven’t done anything, we don’t know anything, we’ve heard nothing. We’re just our charming selves, eager to help.”

“Don’t know what you mean -- should I know something about something?” Carl said, and conjured the most wide-eyed expression on his face, radiating bafflement and innocence.

Rick couldn’t help but chuckle. “Don’t overdo it, son.”

They were almost at the gate now. Tara was pushing it open, and the first Savior to step inside was Dwight, a gun in his hand, Daryl’s crossbow on his back, lips tight, eyes watchful. Rick had heard enough and deduced the rest. _Negan will go first… but you’ll be second._

Rick tried to set his face in an appropriate expression: a mix of wary, baffled, and worried. It would please Negan best, the knowledge that Rick was under his thumb, submissive and housebroken.

The man himself strolled in after Dwight, the bat flinging in his hand, his face not quite so relaxed as usually. His smile was broad, but the eyes had a tightness around them.

“Rick, my man! Pleasure to see you, as always,” he boomed, exuberant and jovial and insane. “I’m taking a tour of my holdings -- sorry for not coming earlier, I know you’ve missed my company, but I checked the other places first. We have a situation on our hands, and I simply can not allow such proactive behavior from my business partners, so I’ve had to chat with the leaders, just a reminder, y’know. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about, Rick, you and your cute friends here, am I right?” 

And he gave another one of his toothy grins and swung the bat to rest on his shoulder.

Rick looked at Negan, letting some of the simmering anger show; Negan would get his kicks from smashing the tiny mutinous sparkle, and that would convince the man that everything was normal, business as usual.

“Oooooh, why the long looks? I didn’t even come to collect, you still have a week until the next pick-up. Just here for a visit, one leader to another, right?”

“What do you want?” That was Carl, chin stubborn, voice ringing but with a teeny tiny wobble, conveying how futile he knew the defiance was.

_If there still were movies, my son would deserve an Oscar. What a performance!_

“Carl -- good to see you, my boy! We won’t disturb you. Much. My men here are just gonna search this lovely community. They won’t trash the place. Much. Of course, if you help us find what we’re looking for, this will all go so much easier.”

“May I ask what you’re looking for?” asked Father Gabriel in his polite tone.

“Yes you may. Glad you asked. Just looking for a person, y’know, like I keep saying: people are a resource. We don’t wanna lose anyone. There’s been a slight misunderstanding, meaning that the person in question has misunderstood his rightful location. I’m all for clarity so that kind of confusion must be rectified asap, don’t you agree?”

Michonne rolled her eyes. Again, a subtle act of mutiny -- well within their rights and what Negan expected. “Would you care to say WHO this person is? Maybe we can help you better if we know who you’re looking for.”

“I’m sure you would, I’m sure you would. The people at Hilltop or the Kingdom couldn’t,” Negan shook his head, mock-sad. “And that was very fuckin’ disappointing.”

The hair on the back of Rick’s neck stood up. He really, really hoped this was just another one of Negan’s mind games, making them fear for the safety of others, hinting at what might happen to them too.

He made his voice tense and bored. “Just tell us who it is and do your search. Get this over with.”

Negan locked his uncannily observant eyes on him. “Oh, he’s someone you know very well. Better than anyone. Right, Rick? Such _good friends_ , aren’t ya? Haven’t heard you plead for his life lately, though. So not _such_ good friends after all? Not important enough to risk my...displeasure, right? My my, isn’t that disappointing. If I had such a _close_ friend, I’d do my very best to get him off. The hook, I mean,” Negan cackled.

Rick was furious, livid, _how dare that fucking monster do that -- mock, insinuate, put his dirty paws on their friendship like that?_ Whatever Rick’s newly-realized feelings for Daryl were, they were NOT Negan’s to make fun of. Another nail in his coffin…

Negan gasped in mock horror. “But what the fuck am I saying? In front of your girlfriend no less! How… indiscreet of me.” He tipped his head towards Michonne. “Begging your pardon.”

You couldn’t throw Michonne that easily. She gave Negan an amused smile. “No apologies necessary, Negan. That was highly inventive and very funny. We can all use a good laugh these days. But enough with the joking… If I understood correctly from all that banter, it’s Daryl you’re talking about, right?”

Negan’s grin vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. His knuckles turned white on the bat and his words came out snarling. “You know perfectly well it’s Daryl I’m talking about. Stop playing, I know he’s here. He’s gotta be here!”

Rick watched Negan silently for a few seconds. He tried to decide the best approach. With Negan, it was impossible to anticipate everything, the man was too unpredictable for that.

“You mean your Sanctuary isn’t quite as safe as you’ve made it out to be? You actually let someone slip away? Just like that? You execute any guards yet?”

Negan’s eyes were pure flaming hatred. “No, your Daryl did that all by his lonesome.”

Rick raised his eyebrows. “That’s some seriously sloppy guardwork then. An unarmed prisoner killing them. Oh dear… Well. You can only blame yourself. Daryl don’t take kindly to being confined.”

Negan stared at him, didn’t blink, hardly breathed. Rick noticed his knuckles gaining color. The man was forcing himself to calm down. 

“You seem to take this awfully well,” Negan said mildly.

Michonne snorted. “You can’t expect us not to like it that Daryl has managed to escape. And took down your people while doing it. Please tell me it was more than a dozen-”

“I mean you seem to take this really well, considering that your precious hunter is now hunted like a goddamn fox, and will be killed on sight. And not with a head shot, either -- no, we’ll take care that his death will take some time. _I_ don’t take kindly to this sort of...impulsive behavior.” He grinned darkly. “And he doesn’t seem to fully understand how fucking unpleasant it can become for his loved ones, this sort of unfortunate spontaneity.”

He glanced at Dwight and Simon. “You know what to do.” The men split in two groups, and left. 

Rick swallowed. He was gambling an awful lot with the lives of his people. But his family came first. He would’ve done the same for any of them. It just happened to be Daryl this time -- the man he’d just realized was holding Rick’s heart in his hands, and didn’t even know it.

Negan took a few steps to follow Simon’s group. He glanced back at Rick and the others.

“Needless to say, no-one leaves until I say it’s ok.” He let his gaze drift among the Alexandrians who were standing quietly, worried and watchful, clustered here and there close to them. “Last chance to come forward and help us find our lost li’l lamb.”

No-one said a thing. Rick looked furtively at Father Gabriel. The priest still had a politely befuddled expression on his face, but the glance he quickly threw at Rick spoke volumes. _It can’t have been too difficult to do the math_ , Rick thought. He wondered if he should be worried.

They watched Negan and his men scatter through the town. Rick turned to walk back to the house. Gabriel’s voice reached him.

“What I don’t know, I don’t need to lie about.” 

Rick turned to look at him. The priest returned the gaze calmly, gave a small nod, and turned towards the church.

*****

The search took three hours of unpleasant thoroughness, and resulted in a few bruises, a flood of insults, and some broken household items. 

Rick’s house was the last one Negan had his people search while he himself lounged on the sofa. Rick and Michonne sat quietly in the armchairs, listening to Simon and his men be less than careful with handling their remaining stuff.

When Simon appeared at the foot of the stairs and gave Negan the tiniest of headshakes, Rick very carefully kept his face blank, with only the slightest hint of annoyance. Negan didn’t say anything, just held Lucille in his lap and brushed it with his fingertips and stared at Simon who held his ground. Negan’s right-hand man knew better than to flinch.

Negan stood up, flung the bat on his shoulder, and turned his cold gaze to Rick and Michonne. 

“Got away with it this time. However. I _know_ the loverboy is somewhere around, I can just fuckin’ feel it. Can’t wait for Lucille to feel it too.” His smile was joyful, making the intent of the words even more cruel. “Enjoy him while you can, Ricky-boy.” He bowed lightly to Michonne. “Michonne… always a pleasure.” He turned to Simon. “Gather the men, we’re leaving.” He glanced back at Rick. “Just know that the price for aiding and abetting a fugitive is high. Make sure your Alexandrians know the price of your bed warmer.”

He walked out, and within ten minutes every single Savior had left Alexandria.

Rick felt like throwing up.

*****

“You did the right thing, Rick.”

Michonne was vehement, almost spitting out the words. For half a second, Rick was surprised by her attitude -- he’d thought this might’ve been a good place for Michonne to re-question his decisions. He reproached himself: Michonne was nothing if not loyal. She might’ve been angry about Rick’s stupidity and still harbor negative feelings towards Daryl, but they both were part of Michonne’s family, and NOBODY fucked with her family anymore. They’d lost so many already, Rick knew perfectly well Michonne wasn’t ready to lose Daryl too. The risk of Negan notwithstanding. 

Every romance-related squabble aside, Rick KNEW Michonne was well aware that what was being done for Daryl, would be done for every member of their family. It was a calculated risk and the stakes were high. Rick looked out the window, saw Alexandrians gathering on the street, animatedly talking about what had just happened. Yes, he knew the risks. All the more reason to succeed, right?

Someone knocked on the door. Michonne went to open it and came back with Aaron. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there looking at them both, biting his lip. He sighed.

“Look, I think you know where he is. No way is he going to escape and just leave you.” He paused expectantly. When Rick or Michonne didn’t say anything, he sighed again. “Ok, I get it. The fewer know, the safer it is. Just, don’t think people can’t guess, alright. So I hope he’s in a safe place. I hope there isn’t anyone here who’d go to Negan, but people can be funny when they’re scared. Everyone already knows we’ll be going against him; that’s enough pressure for now.” He paused again, looked at them with a question in his eyes. 

Rick felt uncomfortable keeping this secret from Aaron -- he knew how much Daryl valued the man, and they’d seemed to have become good friends. His face must’ve given him away, because Aaron shook his head. 

“Don’t. Better if you keep things close to your chest for now. Just…” he smiled, “give him a great big hug for me, will you? Me and Eric, we really like him, and whatever it is you’re doing to keep him safe, keep doing it. And if we can help, just say the word.”

He didn’t stay after that, just smiled at them again and left.

Michonne glanced at Rick. “I still haven’t completely forgiven you for being such a giant idiot but I _am_ sorry for how I acted about Daryl. We’re doing the right thing, absolutely. You can thank Negan for this certainty -- it’s the way he was… He’s gotta go down. No-one’s safe as long as he’s breathing.”

“No argument from me.”

_-Daryl-_

It was a long day. He slept, and ate, and read a few comics, slept some more, and was fast going stir-crazy. In the end, he trekked back to the opening and went to take a peek at the gates. No movement there, just a lone guard on the platform. He sat on the bottom of the dry trench for a long while, driving the darkness out of his head, enjoying the feeling of endless space around him.

He was still sitting there when the sun set. He felt hope stirring -- maybe someone ( _Rick? please let it be Rick_ ) would come tell him what the hell had happened with Negan. Obviously they hadn’t found him but had there been...casualties? Had someone paid the price for Negan’s disappointment?

His feet were numb when he scrambled up, and only then did he notice the trench hadn’t been quite as dry as he’d thought -- his pants were disgustingly damp. In the grand scheme of things it was a minor inconvenience, but after the three-month stint in the Sanctuary, Daryl was still trying to get used to the fact that he was again able to _do_ something about these small setbacks. There were clothes in the backpacks, so Daryl set out to stroll back to his lair.

He changed into dry, clean pants. The shivering started almost instantly. He crept in the bed, wrapped himself in two blankets, tried to force his muscles to relax. He’d been cold outside but it hadn’t been this bad, even with the damp clothes. _Shouldn’t I be gettin’ over this shit already?_

He tried to concentrate on not shivering. Imagined someone with him, another warm body under the blankets. Nothing...like _that_ \-- Daryl’s mind wouldn’t go there -- just… _with_ him, that’s all, keeping each other warm. 

Daryl searched for solace in the visions, and kept the darkness at bay by watching the lantern’s dim light. The visions turned into dreams as the hunter fell asleep.

_Yeah, we got a front row seat_

_Oh, to a life that can't be beat_

_Right here on easy street_

_(can’t breath can’t breath why’s it so dark this is death death death weighing on my chest can’t breath please can’t breath)_

“Daryl! Ohmygod… Daryl, wake up, wake the FUCK UP!”

The song faded into a distant drone. The weight on his chest -- a thousand pounds of graveyard dirt -- lightened. Daryl blinked. His throat hurt. Why did his throat hurt?

Rick’s panicked voice kept drawing him back from wherever he’d been. “Daryl… come on, man… wake up now..!”

“‘m awake”. That hoarse, raspy voice… that was _him_?

“Oh God…” The mattress dipped. Daryl blinked again, and this time it helped, his eyes cooperated, and he saw Rick sitting on the mattress staring back at him. The man was panting as if he’d run.

“You scared me, man.” Rick tried to smile but it came out small and miserable. “You wouldn’t wake up, and the way you looked...the sounds you were making… I was scared shitless, gotta tell ya…”

“What…” Daryl cleared his throat. Fuck, why was his voice like this? “What happened? Is it morning already?”

“No, no… It’s after midnight. Wanted to come earlier but this day… everybody seemed to want to unload, or ask questions, or both, and then people just stayed outside, I couldn’t sneak away sooner. I’m sorry, I should’ve thought of something.”

“Don’t. You got responsibilities, I get it.” He wanted to ask about Negan but… “What happened here? What...I… What did I do?” He shuddered, cold shivers running through him like slivers of ice. The blankets had fallen on the floor ( _what the hell happened here?_ ). He reached for them but Rick got there first. He picked up the blankets and covered Daryl from neck to toe and left his hand on Daryl’s shoulder almost absent-mindedly.

“When I got down here, I heard you straight away. You were screaming, Daryl, screaming real loud. I thought… I thought maybe walkers…” Rick looked away, swallowed, composed himself. Daryl wriggled until he got his hand from under the blanket, reached up and put his hand on Rick’s. The older man turned his gaze back on Daryl, glanced at their hands.

“You were thrashing around on the bed, all tangled up in your blankets.. you were just… screaming… you looked so...scared… an’ I guess that scared me more than anything ‘cause, y’know, you’re never scared of anything… so whatever got you like that must’ve been goddamn terrifying.” Rick pulled his hand away and before Daryl had time to react, Rick had taken his hand and settled them on the mattress. The leader’s grip was firm and warm; his thumb kept brushing Daryl’s fingers.

Daryl was exhausted and shaken but he couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory of himself only last night. Rick raised his eyebrow questioningly.

“Looks like I do need someone to hold my hand after all.” Daryl’s voice almost gave up, he had to cough for a minute, but Rick had a tiny smile on his face.

“Yeah you do. Glad to be of service.” The smile vanished. “I really freaked out, man… I shook you but you didn’t wanna wake up an’ I didn’t know what to do, couldn’t leave to get help, couldn’t leave you like that... “

They didn’t say anything for a while. Daryl’s eyes were on their hands. He followed the movement of Rick’s thumb. The rational thing to do would be to pull his hand away. This sort of thing...it wasn’t what friends were supposed to do, right?

_Fuck rational things_ , he thought savagely. _If Rick wants to hold my hand, he can. It’s not like it’s any sort of hardship to let him…_

“Nightmares?” Rick’s tone was gentle, just as gentle as his fingers. Daryl knew Rick believed in talking about stuff which was a goddamn nuisance sometimes. 

Daryl nodded, and glanced at the other man. The lantern light glinted on Rick’s eyes. _So blue._

“Thought I’s dyin’. Couldn’t breathe. An’ there was that fuckin’ song...like I’s in a music box an’ couldn’t get out. Like I’s buried alive an’ nobody’d come get me out.” Daryl stopped, horrified that he’d come so close to admitting where it had hurt the most.

Rick’s face… like someone had hit him.

He swallowed, lowered his head. “I’m sorry, Daryl. I made the wrong choice, and you’re paying for it even now.”

“You made A choice, Rick. At the time it was the best you could do, with the information you had. An’ you were all in shock on account of Abe an’ Glenn, an’ I know… trust me, I have first-hand experience how misshapen everythin’ can get with Negan around.” Daryl was whispering by now, his throat hurt something awful, he’d have to let it rest. But these things needed to be said.

“If you’d come for me before, we could all be dead. No way to know. So no reason to second-guess. It is what it is, y’know. At least this way, we’re all here. An’ I know the Sanctuary inside and out, it’ll help.”

Rick gave a small smile. “This is all ass-backwards. I should be comforting _you_ , not the other way around.”

“We can take turns. I don’t mind. Haven’t had a chance to comfort anyone for months. ‘m all out of practice.” He was joking. Fuck, he was _joking_. It felt so fucking good!

“You still cold?”

“Yeah well...better question is when am I warm, y’know… I guess this’ll pass at some point.” Daryl’s face got grim. “I’ll be all warm an’ fuzzy when I get to see my bolt drive in Negan’s skull.”

“Brutal,” Rick said drily.

“What can I say? I’m a brutal guy.”

“Sure you are… I’ll remember that the next time you’re playing peekaboo with Judy.”

Rick was trying to get Daryl’s mind off the bad stuff. The hunter knew it. Decided to give it a try. But first…

“I went out in the morning. I know Negan was there. What happened?”

A violent burst of shudders ran through him. Rick let go of his hand and leaned down to untie his boots.

“This is ridiculous. We’re not talking about Negan. Not now. Now, we get you warm, and then you’ll sleep, and I’ll sleep, and we’ll talk in the morning.” The leader voice. Daryl sniffed dramatically.

“Whatever you say, boss.” A small part of him was glad that Rick had flatly refused to let Daryl into Negan’s reality. Quite a large part of him was pretty goddamn glad of the prospect of getting warm. Rick slithered under the blankets and pushed his arm under Daryl’s head.

“Come close. Don’t get all coy with me now, man, this is for medical purposes.” Daryl was surprised to hear a faint, nervous undertone. “An’ besides, Aaron sent a hug. ‘A great big hug’ were his exact words, in fact. So, in a way, you can think you’re being hugged by two people now. That warm enough for ya?” 

_Rick’s babbling_ , Daryl thought, puzzled. He went along with the banter, hoping it would ease the other man.

“You mean I’m in bed with _two_ men? Good Lord, this’ll wreck my virtuous reputation.”

Rick chuckled.

“You told Aaron I’m here?”

“Nah. He guessed. He’s not an idiot, you know, and neither is Gabriel… as soon as they heard that Negan was looking for you, they guessed you’d be close by. Me and Michonne and Carl, and Tara an’ Rosita of course, we’ve decided to stay quiet about this, just to be safe, but I don’t see any real danger in Gabriel, Aaron or Eric guessing.”

“Yeah, they won’t say a word.” Another shiver passed through Daryl; Rick drew him closer.

It was surprisingly difficult to talk about stuff that didn’t involve Negan in some way. Even reminiscing the few good days at the farm or Rick retelling the way he’d found his family caused a pang of sadness -- they both missed Glenn.

“He was the first one of you guys I met,” Rick said in a sad voice. “I’d’ve died in that tank without him. He had no idea who I was, and yet he wanted to save me.”

Daryl’s hand rested on Rick’s chest. He brushed Rick in what he hoped was a comforting motion and not a creepy one. He didn’t want Rick to get nervous and awkward again. “Negan has a lot to answer for.”

They went further back, to Before, and finally Daryl relaxed. He was warm now, and Rick’s arm around him felt...good. And Rick didn’t seem to mind that Daryl was still caressing him, following the lines of his ribs through his shirt, over and over again. The question slipped past his lips before he had the presence of mind to stop it.

“Won’t Michonne mind? The whole risk, y’know, an’ you spendin’ so much time away from her, helpin’ my sorry ass.”

There was no space between them, none at all, so Daryl noticed Rick tense up for a second.

“The risk, no. Michonne is all for bringing down the Saviors. You should’ve seen her today, she was frothing at the mouth, absolutely furious with Negan. And you’re family. We protect our family. No, Michonne’s fine with the risk.” He paused; his fingers were drawing circles in Daryl’s back, they burned through the layers of shirts.

“And me spending time away from her… nah, she won’t mind. Why would she?”

“Ummm… ‘cause you’re together? An’ you’re away at a time like this? Most girlfriends would be a little pissed off if they had to spend their nights alone.”

“I hope I’ll never be in a relationship where I don’t have _permission_ to help my best friend! That said, I’m not in any kind of relationship at the moment.” Saying that seemed to make Rick realize something. “You didn’t know, did you? I guess I thought that Carl or Tara or someone would’ve filled you in with the latest gossip,” Rick said drily, “but obviously not.”

Surprised, Daryl raised his head and looked at Rick. “What? You an’ Michonne…?”

“Yeah. No ‘me and Michonne’ anymore.”

“What happened?”

“A lot of things. Just… didn’t work out for me any more.” Pause. “Let’s try to get some sleep now, ok?”

_Doesn’t wanna talk about it. Ok. I can get not wantin’ to talk about stuff._

Daryl watched Rick for a minute longer. Saw him avoid Daryl’s eyes. _Yeah. There’s definitely a story here._

“Ok.” He lay his head back. Rick’s arm tightened around him. _Warmth. Home._ He closed his eyes and fell asleep in seconds.

*****

When he woke up, he wondered if he’d moved at all. He was still tucked under Rick’s arm, his own hand on Rick’s chest, his face burrowed in the other man’s neck. Slowly, he raised his head, trying not to bother Rick. When he looked at Rick, however, he noticed the older man was already awake, watching him with a small smile on his face.

“Woke up a while ago. Didn’t wanna disturb you.” He checked his watch. “It’s close to seven. I need to go soon. D’you feel better?”

The cave, the dim lantern, the warmth, Rick’s arm around him, his face so fuckin’ close, that smile...it created its own reality, a bubble in time, and then Daryl realized he hadn’t said anything, he’d just been staring at Rick, eyes locked, _and fuck this is gonna be awkward real soon_. Rick’s expression changed, the smile faded, the arm around Daryl tightened.

“Daryl..? You ok?” 

_How was Rick’s voice suddenly so low?_

The hunter dragged his eyes away. He was acutely aware of his own hand still resting on Rick, of his whole freakin’ body flush against the other man. Of the reactions all this...unreality…was making happen in his body. He had to get some distance _now_.

He pulled back, sat up. Rick’s arm dropped away.

“Yeah, ‘m ok. Slept real well. Thanks, man. Again.”

“No need to thank me.” Rick cleared his throat and propped himself up on his elbows. “It was...kinda nice.”

Daryl didn’t look at him. He was afraid Rick would see something Daryl didn’t want to show. He laced his fingers and stared at them. ‘ _Kinda nice’? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? What the fuck am I supposed to do with the information that Rick thinks sleepin’ in the same bed cuddlin’ with me is ‘kinda nice’?_

The leader pushed himself up, and they sat on the bed, shoulder to shoulder. He nudged Daryl, chuckled. “You must be a huge success with the ladies -- you’re really very, very nice to sleep with,” he chuckled again, “I mean in the same bed. Don’t really have any idea of your other qualifications.”

_What the holy fucking shit is this? Oh God… I have to say something before… oh fuck. Fuck._

“Rick, stop… you...you have to know somethin’.” Daryl’s voice was anguished, strangled, he hardly recognized it himself. Rick’s laughter died. 

“What? What’s wrong? Oh fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was just kidding, don’t wanna make you uncomfortable…”

“No, no, ‘s not that, ya don’t have to apologize. An’ you’re right, it was...kinda nice. It’s just that… shit, don’t hate me, ok?”

Rick was baffled. “Don’t be stupid, I could never hate you!”

Daryl pushed his fingers through his hair, nervous and awkward. He’d never told anyone.

“You joked...about ladies,” he started.

“...yes?” Rick prompted him.

“See, the thing is…’m not really...into ladies, y’know?”

Daryl didn’t have the nerve to look at Rick. What would be his reaction? Shocked? Disgusted? Mad?

A hand on his shoulder. Rick’s voice -- surprised but not angry. “Ok...Thanks for telling me, I guess… Just… what did you...how did you think I’d react?”

“Dunno...I just figured you had the right to know, what with the sleeping thing an’ all...Don’t want you to find out later an’...an’...think I took some kinda advantage of you or somethin’...”

Rick burst out laughing. “Advantage? Daryl, you’re probably the world’s most unlikely person to EVER take any kind of advantage of anyone!”

Daryl glanced at him under his long fringe. Rick was watching him, eyes kind and amused. And something else. Daryl just didn’t know what.

Rick went on. “Did you expect me to run away screaming, all offended and feeling ever so violated?”

Daryl picked at the lint on the blanket.

“Didn’t know what to expect.”

“You really thought it would change something? Come on… you’re my best friend, the person I trust the most, the man who’s saved me and everyone else so many times I’ve lost count. How’s you being gay gonna change that?”

He continued. “Have you ever seen anything that would’ve made you think I’m homophobic?”

“No...It’s just… bein’ friendly with gays is one thing, but spendin’ nights with them is a bit different, dontcha think? How was I supposed to know how you’d deal with this? I wanted to tell you so you can, y’know, decide if you wanna maybe rethink your willingness to...to…”

“Really, Daryl? Really? You think so little of me? You don’t want me here, that’s one thing, you just say the word and I...stay away. But I saw you last night, and I saw you this morning, and as long as spending the night with you keeps helping you like that, I’ll be here. But if you don’t want that, or if...if you want someone else here… then…”

“No, I don’t want anyone else. Don’t trust anyone as much. Don’t trust anyone else seein’ me...like that.” Daryl turned to look at Rick, met his gaze, unflinching. “If you’re sure..?”

“I’m sure,” Rick said firmly. He nibbled at his lip, thinking. “Why haven’t you said anything before? We’ve known each other… feels like forever, really. Years, anyway.”

“Never told anyone.”

“What? How’s that even possible?”

“Try bein’ gay in Georgia countryside, with a family like I had. You learn to stay pretty fuckin’ quiet about stuff like that.”

“Oh. Right. But afterwards? For the past few years? You never met anyone you...like?”

Daryl shifted, uncomfortable about the particular turn this discussion had taken. He sucked at lying, however, especially to Rick, so he’d have to settle with half-truths.

“Maybe. Just… come on. You think these past few years have been real great for coming out, tryin’ to figure out this...thing, while runnin’ for your life every frickin’ day? With Woodbury an’ Terminus an’ Negan an’ all that crap? Haven’t really had time to take risks with...anyone.”

Rick’s eyebrows rose in curiosity. Daryl could’ve sworn the man’s eyes had turned dark -- but all this was already so weird, maybe he was simply hallucinating…

“‘Maybe’? Anyone I know?” 

_There was something in his tone...playfulness, yes, but…_

Rick continued. “That Jesus fellow? He’s good-looking, I suppose…”

“Oh please... He’s ok I guess...not hard on the eyes, y’know… but no. Does nothin’ for me.”

Daryl fervently wished the conversation to end. Now. Immediately. Would he really have to stop it, outright say ‘Don’t wanna talk about this anymore, at all, ever’?

For once, he had luck on his side in the form of Tara. Her clear voice came from a bit farther in the tunnel.

“Rick, you here? Daryl?”

“Yeah, we’re here!” Rick answered, and unhurriedly flung his feet on the ground and started to put his boots on. Tara walked in carrying a bag; her shrewd eyes swept over the sight. Both men with mussed hair, Rick sitting on the mattress and blatantly getting dressed, Daryl sitting up but still under blankets. The hunter felt extremely self-conscious. It was all perfectly innocent but he was sure it didn’t look like it.

“What’s up, Tara?” Rick asked, tying his laces.

“Jesus just arrived, he’s asking for you. You wanna come up?”

Rick turned to Daryl.

“Shit, I totally forgot to tell you about yesterday. Tara, would you mind staying here a little while? You can fill him in on Negan’s latest fun an’ games.”

“Sure, no problem. I brought some food,” Tara answered, addressing Daryl.

Rick was still looking at Daryl. “I’ll be back tonight, ok. Hopefully it won’t be so late. Stay safe.”

He smiled briefly at Tara, and left.

_-Daryl & Tara- _

When the sound of Rick’s steps had faded completely, Tara nailed her gaze on Daryl. 

_Well, ain’t this just grand._ He got up, stepped into his boots and crouched to tie the laces. He walked over to Tara who was still looking at him. _If you think you’re gonna win this starin’ contest, you’ve got another thing comin’_ , he thought grimly. _Ain’t nobody gonna stare me down. Except probably Rick. Shit. Rick…_

“What did ya bring?” he asked. _Better to take the initiative here…_ “An’ it’s good you’re here. Been meanin’ to talk to you.”

“Have you now..? Ok, so, here’s sandwiches and there’s coffee in that thermos. Thought you’d like it.” Tara smiled, the third-degree-interrogation-coming-up glint gone from her eyes, at least for the moment.

“Thanks. Read my mind.” Daryl took the coffee and the sandwiches and sat on the mattress, leaned on the wall. “Come on, sit down. Ain’t much else you can sit on. You gotta bring me a chair next time.”

Tara sat cross-legged on the foot of the mattress. “Something you wanted to talk to me about?”

“More like ask you. What’s with Rick an’ Michonne? The looks she’s been throwin’ at me… like I’m a dead rat or somethin’. Seems to be pissed at Rick, too. Wasn’t until this mornin’ I found out they’re not even together anymore. The way Michonne looks at Rick, I get the feelin’ it wasn’t her that broke it up. Rick didn’t seem to wanna talk about it much. An’ what’s she pissed at me for? I ain’t done nothin’ to her, I’ve been in a fuckin’ cell for the past months…”

Tara looked at him searchingly. Then she nodded to herself. “Ok then. Nobody really knows what happened, not for sure. Rick talked to no-one, he’s been silent and withdrawn ever since Glenn and Abe were killed and you were taken. Michonne, you know her, not much of a talker either, and as proud as they come. There are theories, though… a few of their arguments were pretty vocal and some words were overheard, y’know.”

“When did this happen?”

“Oh, about a month after Negan took you, or maybe five weeks? Hard to keep track of time... Maybe a week after he dragged you down here and humiliated Rick with Lucille. More than a month ago, anyways.”

“Long time for Michonne to hold a grudge.”

“Yes, well, she’s the unforgiving type. Though, I’m one to talk…” Tara snapped her mouth shut, and Daryl knew she was thinking of Denise. 

“So what’s the theory?”

Tara bit her lip and looked uncertain. “Dunno if I should tell you anything. Nothing’s certain, it’s just gossip, y’know.”

“Spit it out, lady!”

“You’re pretty damn curious about their relationship. Now, why’s that?”

“What..?” Daryl felt ambushed. Goddamn girl! “The way Michonne’s been actin’ is real weird, an’ I didn’t care for the way she went against Rick at Hilltop. An’ the way she’s been lookin’ at me… just makes me wanna know what the hell’s goin’ on and whether I should be worried! An’ Rick… he didn’t look happy when I asked him, an’ he wouldn’t talk.”

“And it’s important that Rick’s happy, right?”

Daryl glanced at her, puzzled. “Of course it’s important.”

“Of course it is,” she repeated, voice flat. “Now, I’m just saying what Rosita and Aaron told me. Something they overheard during the few weeks when those two were actively at each other’s throats. Well, ok, I’m exaggerating… more like they were cold and polite 99 percent of the time, and snapped at each other like sharks the rest of it. Anyhow, Daryl, gotta tell you, we don’t exactly know _why_ they broke up, but the one thing we know for sure -- well, pretty sure -- is that it’s got _something_ to do with you.”

“Wh...what??” Daryl’s mind shut down. Drew a complete blank. “What??” he tried again.

Tara gave him that searching look again. 

“You know nothing of this?”

“Why...how… how _could_ I? I was in the freakin’ Sanctuary! An’ before that, all I know is those two were regular lovebirds! I hardly talked with Rick after they got together. So how the hell could this have anythin’ to do with me??”

Tara shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know anything more. Just that your name was pretty often mentioned in those arguments. Like Michonne was, dunno, attacking Rick because of you.”

Daryl just stared at Tara. If she had told him they had found irrefutable proof that Carol was a werewolf, he’d been less staggered.

Tara went on, a bit hesitant. “And then the things since you came back...like, this is the second time I’ve found you two in bed together, so…” she flinched at Daryl’s icy scowl but pressed ahead, “...what am I supposed to think?”

“You could’ve asked. I really hope you haven’t been blabbing about…”

“No! No, of course not. It’s just been so crazy since your escape, I haven’t had a chance to talk to you… So...I’m asking now. What’s this thing you’ve got going with Rick?”

“There’s no ‘thing’ goin’, goddamnit! Rick’s just… he’s just _helpin’_ me.” Daryl’s scowl was melting away; the expression on his face -- what little Tara could see of it behind his hair -- was near painful. “Haven’t been sleepin’ too well since… There’s...stuff goin’ on in my head and… he’s helpin’.” Daryl glanced at Tara. “I trust him. It’s... _safe_...with him. Nothin’ more. So get your mind off the gutter, ok? Dunno what Michonne’s problem is but there ain’t anythin’ between me and Rick. Not, y’know, like _that_.”

Tara kept watching him, and Daryl knew she was too damn perceptive for her own good. She was also kind, however.

“Ok. If you say so. We don’t have to talk about it anymore. None of my business anyhow.”

Daryl grunted a thank you.

“Just… remember if you ever want to talk, you know where to find me, ok?”

A small nod.

Tara changed the subject, and told him what had happened the previous day. She reported the whole thing: Negan’s nasty taunts to Rick, Michonne and Carl playing their part, the searches. Daryl was relieved beyond words that there had been no casualties. But…

“You sure I’m worth this?”

She thought carefully about the question. From pretty much anyone else it would’ve been a stupid, borderline disgusting question, fishing for compliments and reassurance. The thing was, with Daryl, it was an honest question, and it broke her heart to hear him -- his tone unhappy but calm, wondering, sincerely _asking_ her.

“You helpin’ me, it’s puttin’ everyone at risk. An’ I killed Glenn. I don’t even know how Maggie can look at me, an’ she’s in on this, protectin’ me.” 

Tara crept closer and wrapped her arms around the sad hunter.

“Nobody killed Glenn but Negan. You gotta get these things straightened out in your mind. Negan and his people killed Glenn and Abe and Denise and so many other people. Negan gutted Spencer in front of your house and one of his people shot Olivia, just like that. Not your fault. Not my fault. Not Rick’s fault. Only Negan’s fault. Get that through to your head, ok? Maggie knows this. She loved Glenn. But she loves you, too. You’re family, and you did _not_ kill Glenn. She’s never, for a second, thought otherwise.”

She pulled back and cradled Daryl’s face in her hands. 

“Look at me.” Daryl raised his eyes to her. “Listen. It’s not even about you. Well, not all of it. You know we’d do this for any one of us, right? So, in a way, try not to take this personally, it might help, right?” She paused. “I don’t know how any of us could’ve for a second entertained the idea of shipping you to the Kingdom, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything at Hilltop, I’m sorry… You belong with us. We’ll just take care that you’ll stay safe until we’re ready to take out the Saviors.”

Tara kissed his cheek. “You’re totally worth it. Absolutely. One hundred percent worth it.”

  
  


_-Rick-_

_What the hell just happened?_

Rick walked mechanically back to the manhole, climbed up, made sure nobody was nearby -- all of it on autopilot. He played the earlier discussion over and over in his head. Couldn’t wrap his mind around the new information.

_Daryl’s gay?_ And he’d had no idea.

Didn’t say a lot about his powers of perception as an officer of the law, now did it? Although, how was he supposed to have noticed something like that in another person if he’d had zero idea of what had been going on with himself?

Which brought him to the next question: why hadn’t he said anything just now? 

He imagined the conversation. “Oh, you’re attracted to men? Funny you should mention it! As it turns out, so am I. At least, attracted to one particular guy. - Oh, thanks for asking. It’s you.”

Rick flinched. No. No. It would’ve made it worse, SO much worse for Daryl. He was interested in someone, for one. That was clear. The amount of awkward would be too much. A lot of energy wasted on coping with the situation -- right now, they needed all of that energy elsewhere. The most important thing was to help Daryl over the worst. To help him sleep properly, to get rid of the songs and the shivers as much as possible. 

_We need the energy for keeping him safe, keeping us all safe, planning for the war._ The time for any awkward confessions on Rick’s part would be later. If ever. 

The mere idea of that conversation caused Rick’s brave leader heart to cringe.


	4. Try new things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finished 13 chapters so far, and this one is by far the longest of them all. For you, that's good or bad news, depending on how you feel about +10k chapters ;) 
> 
> Have fun! Have a relaxing weekend :)

_-Daryl-_

Tara had stayed for a long while, telling about the months he’d been gone, about everything that had happened. She had a watch in the afternoon, though, so eventually Daryl was alone. It was no more than an hour later, and already he was bored silly. It was nothing like being locked up in the cell -- he hadn’t been exactly _bored_ there. His days had been consumed by too many thoughts and emotions -- worry, hate, fear, depression (and had he mentioned hate already?) -- to have had time to be bored. None of those things filled his mind anymore, not to that extent. He was home (after a fashion), he had his friends...but he was also hiding in a cave with absolutely nothing to do. For a man like him it was tantamount to having bamboo sticks stuck under his nails.

He had to start planning ahead. Think of things to do. Get supplies to make more bolts. Start to jog in the passages, for fuck’s sake. Ask for more books from Carl.

His days couldn’t be just about waiting for someone to come. It could be weeks, maybe months he’d have to stay hidden.

Daryl grabbed another sandwich, a few comic books and a flashlight and decided to spend his day in the trench. 

*****

It was late when he stoically trudged back. He didn’t have to like this -- he just had to deal with this. 

Rick had promised to come tonight. That would remain to be seen. Maybe having been above-ground for the day had made him change his mind. However tolerant Rick was, it couldn’t be easy for him to _know_ he’d be sharing a bed with a gay guy. And not just sharing. Cuddling, more like.

When he reached the cave, Rick was already there, unpacking a bag, piling batteries, comic books, regular books, food, more clothes on a piece of tarpaulin lying on the ground. He’d also brought a second lantern, and having two light sources made all the difference. 

Rick had heard Daryl’s steps.

He stopped the unpacking for a moment and turned to look at the archer. 

“Hi. Figured you were still out. Would’ve come looking for you in a minute. I just wanted to get the stuff out of the bag first.”

Daryl looked at the pile. “You wouldn’t happen to have a mug of hot coffee in there somewhere?”

“I brought a whole thermos. Gotta take it back though, and the one that Tara brought as well. We’ve only got the two so if you wanna keep drinking coffee, I’ve got to take them back.”

Daryl sat down on the bed and leaned on the wall. Rick handed the bottle to him and sat down by his side. Daryl sipped coffee straight from the bottle, offered it to Rick without a word, the other man drank some, gave it back, and for a long while they just sat there silently, the thermos bottle going back and forth.

“Where were you?” Rick asked finally.

“Outside the grate. Sat in the trench, read some comics. Feels good to be outside.”

“I get that.” Rick paused. “You should be real careful, though. Aaron went scouting today and said he kept stumbling on Saviors every five minutes. They’re all over the place, looking for you. Not a good time to go hunting and stuff.”

Daryl looked down, bit his lip. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t guessed this but still… it was hard to hear that he really couldn’t leave anywhere. No stretching his legs in the woods. No hunting. 

“I know this is difficult for you. But it won’t last forever, I promise you that.”

Daryl grunted and changed the subject.

“Jesus have anythin’ interestin’ to tell?”

Rick told him about Negan’s visit to Hilltop, and the latest news from the Kingdom. They kept talking until late.

“We should sleep.”

Daryl glanced at Rick. “Yeah, ok.” He didn’t know what else to say. This was the first time they did this from the start, sort of intentionally. Rick leaned forward to untie his shoelaces and toed his boots off. Daryl followed his lead. The leader crawled over Daryl’s legs and lay down on the mattress. The hunter cursed in his mind. _This is fuckin’ awkward. Just get it over with._

Rick wouldn’t let him try to keep a distance. He wiggled his arm under Daryl’s head and pulled him closer. “You sleep better like this and you know it.”

“What about you?” Daryl frowned. “It’s not just about me.”

“Don’t worry about me. You’re not the only one benefiting from this arrangement. You’re not the only one with nightmares. But these last few nights… I haven’t had any.”

Daryl mulled over this until he fell asleep.

*****

He woke up slowly to a comfortable warmth. Rick was holding him securely; Daryl’s face was buried in the crook of Rick’s neck, his lips so temptingly close to the leader’s warm skin. _Fuck_. He moved his head cautiously, not wanting to wake up the other man. Maybe he could get some distance to this embarrassing closeness before Rick noticed it.

But the other man was already awake. Again. Goddamnit. He looked down at Daryl, smiling, and _fuck his lips are so very close. Fuck. Fuck!_

“I would’ve woken you up any minute now, I just didn’t have the heart to do that earlier. I gotta go soon.”

Daryl nodded, their faces still only inches away. Why he didn’t pull away, why he wasn’t more sensible -- he couldn’t say. He just didn’t move. Then something occurred to him.

“You can’t keep doin’ this.” He worried that the reluctancy with which he spoke was evident. Shit. But he had to say this anyway. “You can’t stay here every night. What if somethin’ happens? What if Negan comes durin’ the night? What if someone notices that you’re gone?”

“The most important thing is that you get your sleep.” 

Daryl started to object but Rick put his finger on Daryl’s mouth to shut him up. Daryl was stupefied by this touch, by the feel of _Rick_ on his lips, even if it was just an index finger. Why would Rick do something like that? 

“I don’t mean just your general well-being -- although for me that’s the number one priority,” ( _What? Is he messin’ with me?_ Daryl’s thoughts were in a whirl), “but the harsh reality is that if you get any more of those really bad nightmares, it’s more dangerous because someone could hear your screams. So it’s better for _all_ of us if I’m here for the time being. The others can handle whatever may happen above ground, and we’ve already agreed that if Negan’s people try to pay us a night-time surprise visit, Michonne will tell them I’m scouting for stuff. Enough key people are in on this that we have our backs covered. Michonne, Carl, Tara, Rosita, and I’m counting Aaron, Eric and Gabe in as well. They don’t know anything for certain but they wouldn’t hesitate to back our cover story -- whether to Negan’s people or to our own. So don’t you worry, we’re good.”

It was only then that Rick pulled his finger away, brushing Daryl’s lips in the process. The hunter’s skin tingled near painfully. 

Daryl had been watching the leader carefully, and there was something in his eyes… like an ache he was trying to hide. He didn’t know what to do with that realization, he didn’t know what to make of it, what it might mean, why Rick would look at him like that -- he had enough on his own plate right now. Y’know, fighting against all his urges to fuckin’ JUST KISS THE MAN and be done with it, to hell with anythin’ else, just KISS Rick…

But he didn’t. Yay to his self-control. 

*****

By the sixth night, they had established a sort of a routine. Rick would sneak down by midnight at the latest. They would maybe eat or drink something, but the one certain thing was that they would always talk. Sit on the mattress, leaning on the wall, shoulders and arms and thighs touching. Then they would take off their boots and lay down on the mattress, Daryl’s head always on Rick’s arm, and every time Rick had to pull Daryl closer -- the hunter still didn’t dare to presume that his body would be welcome like that, touching Rick like that. But Rick never hesitated, and every night Daryl fell asleep with Rick’s arms around him, his own hand resting on Rick’s chest, feeling the steady rhythm of the leader’s heart.

On the fifth night, Daryl’s shivers had come back when they were sitting and talking. Why Daryl had been disheartened by this, he couldn’t’ve said. Had he really thought they’d just vanished, after less than two weeks? They had been talking about Negan and Eugene and their plans, and there had been nothing special there, really, and yet, and yet…

It hadn’t lasted long. Rick had been right there, and as soon as he had realized what was going on, he had wrapped his arm around the hunter and held him tight. Daryl had thought he’d die from mortification when he’d heard himself whimper. 

It had hurt _so much_ to understand that it wasn’t over yet. He hadn’t had bad dreams after the second night, thanks to Rick. But at that moment he’d realized that it really wouldn’t be a good idea to be alone at night. The cold had been back -- the nightmares might be as well.

Rick’s arm had squeezed him firmly; the other hand had somehow slipped in Daryl’s hair, soothing fingers threading through it, gently and slowly, again and again. Neither of them had said a word; at some point, Rick had got rid of their boots and pushed Daryl down slowly, and it had taken barely a minute for the exhausted archer to fall asleep.

In the morning, Rick had been as if nothing had happened. Daryl was grateful for this. It was hard enough to hold on to your pride as it was.

So, on that evening, the routine continued. Rick brought back some of Daryl’s clothes -- he’d washed them with some of his own in the laundry house, and taken them to dry at their house, to make sure that the extra clothes wouldn’t attract attention. A bit of an overkill, perhaps, but the stakes were high.

Putting away the clean clothes, Daryl chuckled. “‘s just that it seems pretty pointless to wash them clothes -- ‘m just gonna get them dirty as soon as I wear them. Hilltop’s the last place I got a chance to wash myself.”

Rick smiled. “That’s only a week and a half. Since when have you been so eager to have a shower?”

“Yeah, but this ain’t travelin’. This ain’t DOIN’ somethin’. This is just… waitin’, cooped up in here. Too much time to wallow in my own stink.”

Rick laughed out loud. “Trust me, you don’t stink.”

Daryl grunted. A small, sceptical sound.

“But yeah, I get what you mean.” Rick thought for a moment. “We could maybe...if you want, that is… get you into our house. You could take a shower, eat with us, whatever. Maybe we could risk you staying the night, even. As long as we get you back here by dawn, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

Daryl peered at Rick, dubious. “Ain’t that an awful lot of risk for a fuckin’ shower?”

Rick shook his head. “Not really, no, if you think about it. Our back porch is secluded, you know that. I use it all the time to sneak down here and back. No reason you couldn’t do the same.” 

The leader went silent, just looked at the younger man. Daryl shifted restlessly, and went to the mattress and sat down. Finally, the weight of Rick’s eyes got too heavy.

“What?” he snapped.

“It’s not just about keeping you safe. Or keeping all of us safe by keeping you safe. It’s also about...giving you your life back. I know this isn’t ideal, you having to stay in this place and not being able to do the things you like to do. And I’m betting that after the Sanctuary cell you didn’t really think you’d get holed up in another cell, and I’m sorry for that. So I get that you’ve not got a whole lot of your life back just yet, and there’s nothing we can do about those things. But getting you to the house for one night every now and then, to take a shower, to sleep in a proper bed, to spend a few hours with your friends… THAT we can give you.”

Daryl had to admit it sounded tempting. He liked their house. It was airy and comfy and he could see the sky from the windows. 

“When?”

Rick sat down beside him. The familiar routine.

“Tomorrow night maybe. If the Saviors come tomorrow like they should. It’s time for the pick up and they’re already one day behind schedule. I need to be back real early tomorrow, just in case they’re trying to surprise us. Michonne’s prepared to claim I’m scavenging, but still, I’d rather be there when they come. But if all goes well, I could come and get you tomorrow night.”

Daryl cleared his throat and looked everywhere but at Rick. “D’you think it’ll be alright to everyone there?”

He felt Rick’s stare. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

_‘cause apparently I’ve got somethin’ to do with your break-up with Michonne, how’s that for a reason?_

“Dunno… the risk, y’know…”

“Haven’t we already had this discussion? I’m gonna ask them, ok, but I don’t see any reason they’d object. If Negan finds you, it’s no worse for us if you’re found here or at the house. The risk is already there.”

Daryl chewed on his lip. He sighed. _Goddamnit_. “What about Michonne?”

Rick was still staring. “What d’you mean ‘what about Michonne’?”

Daryl turned to look at him. “I mean I’m not blind. Michonne’s got a problem with me. Don’t think I didn’t notice the way she kept lookin’ at me at Hilltop and on the way here. An’ she hasn’t been down here, not once -- everyone else has, several times. Tara, Rosita, Carl, Sasha… but not her. Dunno what’s her problem an’ can’t even begin to guess since it seems to have started while I’s gone but it’s there. So will she be ok with me in the house?”

Rick sat with his arms resting on his bent knees. Now he shifted, straightened his legs, bent them again, clasped his hands. Daryl’s heart sank. It took a lot to make Rick so nervous that he’d fidget. So there was something there. He wondered if Rick would ever tell him what the fuck was going on. He couldn’t think of anything. As far as he knew, he’d never done anything to Michonne, and even less to Rick and Michonne’s relationship.

“Michonne won’t be a problem.” Rick’s voice was tense and reluctant. It was ridiculously obvious he didn’t want to talk about it.

“You know what her problem is with me?” Daryl had a morbid need to push this thing. Act like he had no idea. Hell, he DIDN’T have any. Just some gossip. And Rick’s glaring discomfort.

He saw Rick draw a deep breath. The man turned his head to Daryl but his eyes didn’t meet his. It looked like Rick was staring into nothing. What could possibly be this horrible?

“Could we...not talk about this now?” It would probably have been too much to describe Rick’s tone as pleading, but it was close. Daryl gave in. It wasn’t like Rick to be this evasive and uncomfortable -- he was a talker, so if he didn’t wanna talk, there must be a reason for it.

“Ok. Wanna sleep now? If you gotta get back early?”

The familiar routine. Except this time Daryl wanted to do things differently. Rick seemed to be ok with being close to him. Fine. Daryl was getting tired of being the one who was always comforted and cosseted, though. He settled on the mattress and extended his arm on the pillow. Rick raised an eyebrow and the remains of the distress vanished from his face, replaced by an amused smile. 

“Hunh. This is new.”

“Well, can’t have you gettin’ bored. Gotta try new things.” Daryl’s voice was carefully flippant.

Rick lay his head on Daryl’s shoulder, the archer pulled him close, and did his best to force his heart to beat steadily as Rick’s arm wrapped around his waist.

“‘s ok? You comfy?”

“Very.” There was something not quite right in Rick’s voice, and a cold shiver ran through Daryl, and this time it had nothing to do with Saviors. 

_This was a mistake_ , he thought, miserable about his miscalculation. _This is too much for Rick, God, should’ve known there’s a line somewhere._ He loosened his hold on the other man.

“You don’t hafta…’m sorry…”

Rick raised his head to look at the archer. He was frowning.

“Whatcha apologizing for?” Rick looked baffled.

“Ya didn’t sound…”

“Sound like what?”

“Like you were ok. Bein’ like this.”

Rick looked thoughtful.

“It’s not that. I just got things on my mind. I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression.” Rick smiled. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: this is kinda nice.”

Rick didn’t move; their gazes remained locked. Something warm squirmed in Daryl’s belly, and he thought...he thought he saw something in Rick’s eyes, but… no. No, right? How was he supposed to even know what that particular kind of ‘something’ looked like? 

But the man just kept looking at him, and the warmth intensified. How could something be this enjoyable and painful at the same time? Daryl didn’t know what to do, how to defuse this -- Rick’s gaze was too intense, too ‘something’, and it couldn’t be… couldn’t be what he’d want it to be so it had to end. 

“What’s on your mind, then?” His voice came out too low, too soft. Crap.

Rick chuckled. He was so close, Daryl felt the puffs of laughter on his skin. Double-crap.

“All sorts of things. Mostly good things. Things I really enjoy thinking about.”

“Wanna share?”

Finally Rick broke the gaze. He laid his head back on Daryl’s shoulder.

“Maybe. But not now. Now we sleep.”

_-Rick-_

Daryl lay down on the bed looking… goddamn! Looking so fucking _delicious!_ He’d put his arm on the pillow, obviously wanting to flip the setting of this thing around. Rick had to smile -- Daryl seemed to feel the need to assert himself. Rick wasn’t complaining. God no! 

Daryl pulled him close and Rick wrapped his arm around the other man’s waist. It was different like this, being the one held, and Rick hadn’t thought he’d like it this much. Daryl’s strong arm firm on his back, Rick’s face almost touching Daryl’s neck… His heart speeded up.

“‘s ok? You comfy?”

When he’d answered, Daryl must’ve heard something off in his voice. Shit. He felt the hunter tense up under his arm. Shit shit.

Goddamnit but the man was close. Rick couldn’t take his eyes off of him. And he’d said too much. Maybe. But what was he gonna do with those eyes RIGHT THERE, with the feel of Daryl’s body RIGHT THERE? And Daryl’s voice… how was it so low? Could it..? No… surely not? But suddenly it didn’t feel quite so impossible, the idea of telling Daryl. Or was he imagining things?

They had to sleep. Negan tomorrow. Had to have a clear head for that.

Daryl back at the house tomorrow. Had to have a really clear head for that. Just in case.

He tightened his hold on Daryl. The hunter pulled him back, just as close as he’d been before the conversation. 

“Rick?”

“Yeah.”

“Good night.”

“Good night. Sleep well.”

“Sweet dreams.”

Not something they usually said to one another. Reflexively, Rick’s arm tightened just a bit more. His thoughts were racing. _Is this...are we...flirting??? Am I reading too much into a commonplace comment? Why’s everything so fucking vague and open to a gazillion interpretations?? I’m not good at this…_

“Oh I think they will be.” His voice wasn’t normally this deep, was it?

“You sound awful sure.” And Daryl’s voice sure didn’t always have that semi-teasing, husky lilt to it.

“Got every reason to.”

Daryl’s chuckle vibrated through Rick. Because they were just SO GODDAMN CLOSE. 

And this was flirting. Rusty memories from way back, from the time Lori and him were dancing around each other… yeah, this was flirting.

_Gotta be. Ohmygod. How the hell is that possible? How could Daryl be flirting with me? Does this mean that_ -

Sleep. Have to sleep now. Close your eyes. Go to sleep. Remember Negan tomorrow. And under no circumstances do NOT continue (flirting??!) with Daryl. Sleep. Now.

Being a sensible adult sucks.

*****

He woke up at five, groggy and disoriented. It took him a while to get his bearings. And realize something was different.

For whatever reason, they didn’t usually move much during the night. They slept like logs, and most mornings Rick had found Daryl’s hand in the exact same spot on his chest.

This time, it was different. Daryl had turned just a little. Their legs were tangled together, and there was the unmistakable feel of the hunter’s morning erection against Rick’s thigh. The shudder that went through Rick was so powerful the man was amazed it didn’t wake up the other one. If he’d still wondered about the nature of his feelings towards the archer, this reaction would’ve proved that the time of platonic friendship feelings was -- at least on his part -- so, so far past.

He had to leave though. Reluctant and slow, he untangled their legs and started to rise, really not wanting to disturb Daryl’s peaceful rest. However, the hunter stirred, rolled even more on Rick, and threw his arm around Rick’s waist. The leader chuckled quietly, and very carefully tried to move Daryl’s arm away. The younger man cracked open his eyes.

“Rick?” It was a low rumble, a warm sleepy voice, and Rick was certain his dick would make a hole in his pants if he didn’t leave right the fuck now.

“Gotta go… You go back to sleep, d’ya hear? I’ll be back in the evening.” Rick raised Daryl’s arm from his waist but the other man resisted.

“Ya hafta go?” 

It was last night -- being so close, flirting cautiously. It was waking up like this. Daryl’s husky voice. The hand that wouldn’t let go. The hard dicks. It was all the feelings that had been surging and roiling and thundering in Rick, just a bit stronger every day, for God knows how long. It was the sum of all this that made Rick lean down and press his lips on Daryl’s cheek, at the corner of his mouth. Still not daring to go the extra few fractions of an inch. He heard Daryl’s small surprised gasp, felt the hunter grab his hand. And then the fearless hunter did what Rick didn’t have the nerve to do: he turned his head, ever so little, just enough for their lips to meet. Rick’s heart skipped a beat.

So very reluctantly, Rick pulled away after only a few moments. If he continued the kiss any more, he wouldn’t be able to leave. He’d kiss and kiss and kiss and… do other stuff. He was light-headed -- _presumably because all the blood is packed somewhere else_ , he thought wryly.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I have to. I’ll be back. Be safe, ok?”

Daryl watched him through narrowed eyes, and licked his lips. Jesus Christ...was he actively _trying_ to cause Rick to have a heart attack?

“Mmhm. You too. Be careful.”

*****

Rick slunk back to the house, straight to his bedroom, to the bed, to maybe catch a few hours of rest. Sleep remained elusive, though, and his mind was filled with visions of Daryl lying on the bed, sleepy and relaxed. The memory of the fleeting kiss made his lips tingle and his dick harden all over again. His hand traveled down, pinched a nipple on the way, ended up on the button of his jeans. He hadn’t done this much lately. The final months with Lori had been filled with hunger and cold and borderline revulsion. Then she’d died and there’d been Woodbury, and Terminus, and some more hunger. Not really conducive to jerking off. Alexandria… the infatuation with Jessie had been more of an escape and relief from the preceding harsh reality and hopelessness. Michonne… Rick forced himself to remember the circumstances. There had been an element of relief there, as well. Michonne was lovely, no doubt about it, but would it ever have happened otherwise?

He snapped open the button and lowered the zipper. He wriggled the jeans down and palmed his cock almost absent-mindedly. His thoughts wandered to the hunter. He didn’t need to search his memory of visions about him, they came uninvited, rushing. There were millions to choose from. Daryl lying on the bed at the farm, Hershel patching him up. Daryl coming back from a hunt, looking grim or content, depending on the result. Daryl leaning on the prison wall, a sun-warm bare shoulder bumping into Rick. Daryl bloody and guilt-ridden sitting by Rick after the Claimers -- Rick still remembered how it had felt; his heart had been so full of love for this man who’d have given his life for them, just like that. Later, Daryl fixing his bike in Alexandria, those beautiful arms bare again. Daryl crouching by the bike, looking up at him, squinting, peering behind his bangs.

And maybe Rick should’ve recognized the nature of his feelings earlier. The ease with which he called the snapshots from his mind revealed that he’d been doing it before, only he hadn’t known WHY he’d done that. Just thinking about his _brother..._ right. He’d memorized Daryl to an uncanny detail. For the life of him, he couldn’t’ve recalled so many or such vivid scenes about anyone else of his family. Not Carol, or Maggie, or Glenn. Just Daryl.

Pretty clueless for an ex-cop. No wonder Michonne had been so angry, so convinced Rick had used her only as a placeholder of some kind.

Rick’s hand moved faster, his grip stronger, more urgent. He immersed himself in visions of this morning, the feeling of Daryl’s lips against his, and he moaned and came hard, hips trembling. He lay for a while, letting his breath and heartbeat settle down back to normal. He glanced at his watch -- six already, might as well get up, take a shower and hope that the Saviors came today. That would hopefully guarantee a week’s peace.

He took his time in the shower, and tried very hard not to think of any particular reasons for wanting to be real clean today. But… if everything went well, Daryl might be here, in the house, tonight, and-

No, no ‘and’, he chided himself. _One tiny kiss doesn’t mean… could just be Daryl needing some extra comfort, right? Right? Can’t go around assuming that just because I’m attracted to him, he’d be attracted to me. Or just because he’s gay, he’d automatically go for any willing male body. That’s just offensive._

Rick gave himself a very stern talking-to while he scrubbed every square inch of his body.

_Mustn’t assume. But I can hope, right?_

He stepped out of the shower still drying his hair and it took a while to notice the man who was leaning against the door, smirking, slowly swaying a bat. Rick flinched and wrapped the towel around his waist.

“To what do I owe this honor?” he asked drily. He was pretty proud with the way he’d managed to keep the surprise and the startled terror out of his voice. 

“Oh, I just wanted to check who are the current occupants of this bedroom,” Negan said smoothly, and walked to the bed. He used Lucille to lift the blankets and pressed his hand first on the other side of the mattress, then the other. 

“Hmm. Alone in bed these days, Ricky-boy? Michonne ditched ya? Loverboy not interested anymore? Still miffed you left him to rot in my cell?”

Rick’s insides were frozen in horror. What if he’d slept a bit longer with Daryl? What if he hadn’t been in his own bed, warming it up, rumpling the sheets?

Outwardly, he gave Negan an icy little smile. Hell would freeze over before he’d open up to that man.

“Thanks for the concern. Even though it’s none of your business, yeah, Michonne and I…we’re going through a rough patch.”

Rick was surprised to see something like a genuine feeling on Negan’s face when he said, “Sorry to hear that.”

But the familiar smirk was back in a flash. “Must’ve been tough to string along two lovers. They’re both sexy, I give you that. Although I can speak about Michonne only, don’t really have an opinion on Daryl either way -- but according to the way some of my men ogled him…” The smile was a pure leer now.

Rick’s facial muscles tightened. Negan burst out laughing.

“Don’t worry about your hunter’s virtue -- I don’t condone rape.” His smile was wolfish. “So if your guy was up to anything during these months, you can rest assured it was with full consent. Might wanna ask him, the next time you meet.”

“What I wanna ask is why the hell you’re doing this? Insinuating about me and Daryl? What’s the fucking point? Daryl’s my best friend so what’s the crap about other...stuff?”

Negan’s eyes were sharp. “I notice it took you long enough to start tryin’ to deny it.” He smirked. “You think I’m stupid or something? Don’t think I didn’t see how you two looked at each other. No wonder it didn’t last with Michonne...bet she got tired with watching you cry over the archer-boy.”

He turned away, cackling. “My boys must’ve loaded your stuff by now. See you next week.”

Rick was left standing there, hair still dripping water, and a cold, cold lump at the bottom of his stomach.

_-Daryl-_

Daryl fell asleep again after Rick had left. The pillow held the scent of the leader, and the feeling of his touch, light and soft, still tingled on Daryl’s lips, and he had no nightmares, heard no music, he just slept.

The uncertainty and anxiety and worry only struck him after he’d been awake for a few hours. He didn’t dare to go out, just in case Negan’s people had come for the pick-up and some general prowling. So he sat on his mattress, ate some bread and tomatoes, tried to concentrate on a book, and became more worried by the hour. 

What had he done? It had been a kiss on the cheek, like the one at Hilltop, and back then it had been just a friendly peck, right? So what the hell had made him think this one had been any different? Why had he turned it into a real kiss? Rick’d been awful quick to leave after that. Hell, it had barely qualified as a kiss, Rick had stopped it so quickly.

What the fuck had he done? He’d thought...he’d imagined that there had been something the previous night… he was notoriously bad at recognizing flirting, not really ever getting that someone could be interested in him, but he’d been almost, almost sure. And so, after the needy little question had slipped out and Rick’s lips were touching his skin so fucking CLOSE, he’d interpreted…

...or misinterpreted?

Why had Rick ended the kiss so quick? Was there any other explanation than the bad one? That Rick never meant the kiss to be more than it was: a friend’s fond peck.

Daryl spent a miserable day blaming himself, tormenting himself with thoughts of how Rick was now trying to figure out a gentle way to _explain_ the situation to him. Even worse: that Rick would _ask_ him why the fuck Daryl had done that. His mind whirled with plausible white lies. He squirmed at the thought -- he was a bad liar but what were the options? _“See here, Rick, the thing is I’ve been crushin’ on you since the farm, an’ I thought ya were flirtin’ with me, an’ that’s why I kissed ya. Oh, an’ I hear you and ‘chonne broke up ‘cause of me, so I thought you’d be on board with it. No? Oh, okay, sorry about that… let’s just get back to bein’ friends? I’m sleepy -- wanna cuddle??”_

And all this crap right after he’d fessed up about the gay thing. Rick must’ve thought... oh God...

_What the hell have I done?_

*****

Rosita came by a bit later, brought some food and stayed for a chat. Told him about the pick-up which had been relatively uneventful, with only the usual amount of sneers and rudeness. Her visit cut into the anxious monotony of Daryl’s day, and he was sorry to see her go after only an hour. He walked to the grate just to see it was drizzling and the trench was soggy and uninviting. He scrunched up his nose and sniffed to himself -- at what point had he started to be afraid of a little rain? However, standing in the rain in a muddy trench was not the same as doing something _real_ in the rain, like hunting or scouting. 

God, he hoped it wouldn’t take months to get the show on the road. He was itching to be useful again. To end the nightmare. To get some payback for Glenn, Abe, Denise and so many others. He peered grimly through the grating. Maybe his shivers and bad dreams would end with revenge.

He turned and trudged back to his cave. Nothing to do now but wait for Rick. Would he come with an apologetic smile, saying how sorry he was that Daryl had misunderstood his friendly show of brotherly tenderness? Daryl’s heart ached at the thought. A tiny kindle of hope flickered faintly; he’d been so _sure_ last night…

*****

Some time later the familiar steps thumped in the passage. Daryl’s head snapped up and his eyes turned towards the corner where Rick would soon appear. He tried not to think in terms of Judgment Day. Rick was his friend, after all. Whatever else would happen, that would remain.

Right?

Daryl’s heart sank when he saw Rick’s face. The smile was stiff, the eyes wary.

During the past years, the blustery Dixon pride had changed into something more quiet and sturdy. Daryl held his head high, his gaze unflinching, his voice steady.

“How was the day? Rosita told about the pick-up.”

Rick’s eyes drifted around the cave. He sat down on the mattress -- almost, but not quite, touching Daryl -- before he answered.

“Pretty much what you’d expect. Taunts and petty squabbles and insults.” He paused, visibly trying to figure out his next words. “And Negan paid me a visit.” He turned his eyes on Daryl. 

Rick was worried, Daryl could see it clearly. For the first time, he wondered if Rick’s wariness had anything at all to do with the kiss.

Because the Dixons could be a lot of things but chickens they weren’t, Daryl scooted over to the edge of the mattress, side by side with Rick, and touched his arm. 

“Hey...you don’t look too good… did somethin’ happen?” His voice was soft, his brow furrowed. 

Rick’s eyes were searching for something, Daryl could sense it. He was nonplussed; he was somehow sure now that the tiny kiss wasn’t the issue here. He _knew_ Rick, this wouldn’t be the reaction, not _this_ kind of worry. It had something to do with Negan… but why would Rick look at him like that because of Negan? Rick wasn’t sad, so Negan hadn’t done anything -- and Rosita would’ve told him, anyway.

The leader looked down, turned his head away, rubbed his hands together, like trying to play for time.

“I feel I should ask you that same question,” he finally said in a hesitant voice.

_What the hell is goin’ on? Did I miss a page in this book or what?_

“Rick, you’ve got exactly two seconds to spit out what it is you wanna say or ask or whatever. I’ve no idea whatcha talkin’ about an’ this cavelife ain’t good for my patience, so stop fuckin’ around with the cryptic talk. If you got somethin’ to ask, then ask.”

“Ok… You told me about your time in the Sanctuary. Did you...by any chance… leave something out? You know you can tell me anything, right?” 

Daryl stared at the other man. _Claustrophobia_ flashed through his mind, as did _the visit to Alexandria_. Should he open up about those? -- but how would Rick have any idea that they had been huge problems for him?

The more seconds passed, the more anguished Rick’s eyes turned.

“Dunno what you expect me to tell ya,” Daryl said, a baffled frown on his face. “I guess there are things… but it’ll take time, y’know, I don’t wanna dwell on that stuff any more than I have to.”

“So there IS something?”

“Rick, you obviously have somethin’ on your mind so just spit it out. Where’s this comin’ from?”

“Negan said something…” And then Rick repeated Negan’s nasty words. 

The effect they had on Daryl wasn’t what Rick seemed to have been expecting.

An ocean of rage and disappointment welled up inside of Daryl. His voice went cold, without a trace of the usual low rumble or soft growl.

“What you’re sayin’ is that either I’s raped an’ I’m damaged goods, or I found myself a Savior lover an’ again I’m damaged goods or somehow fishy ‘cause of that, divided loyalties or some crap.” Daryl’s lip curdled to a contemptuous sneer. “I dunno which is the more disgusting alternative. No wonder ya looked at me like I’s contaminated somehow. Thanks Rick, good to know ya have such a high opinion of me.”

He stood up and walked to the other side of the cave. He couldn’t handle another moment within touching distance of Rick. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to howl. Shout. Cry. The few years of tentative self-worth, down the drain.

Rick’s shocked voice reached him.

“God, Daryl… oh fuck… you got me all wrong… that wasn’t... goddamn it, I said it all wrong…”

Daryl turned to look at the man. His _best friend_. Maybe he owed him a chance to explain. Maybe.

“Then say it right! What the fuck did ya mean?” he snapped.

Rick spoke slowly, trying to pick his words with great care. _As well he should_ , Daryl thought viciously.

“You could never be ‘damaged goods’. Just not possible. Please… please, you gotta believe me. I’d never think that. Never! You’re my family, my best friend, my… Just… never forget how much I trust you, please…” Rick paused, chewed on his lip, eyes glued on Daryl who was staring at him, a tiny bit thawed, a little less furious.

“I don’t think there’s anything that could make me trust you less. So even if you’d found...company… at the Sanctuary,” Rick flinched as he saw Daryl’s scowl, “I didn’t say you _did_ , I said _even if!_ ‘cause I guess there’s regular folk there too… anyway, I’d be...happy,” Rick swallowed, “to know you’d had some comfort there. How can you even _imagine_ I’d think you’d compromised your loyalty? Do YOU think so little of me?”

Daryl’s snap was somewhat less snappish. “Then what? Why were you so weird if it wasn’t for that?”

Rick lowered his gaze. “You know how Negan loves to mess people up. Run rings around them, mix truth and lies until you don’t know which way is up. I thought… I thought it could be possible that his guys had...hurt you. Your nightmares and all, they’re so violent… And that you wouldn’t tell me, ‘cause you’d fear how I’d take it… like just now, you were pretty prepared to believe the worst… and I thought, God, I’d want to be there for you but if you don’t trust me enough to tell me...and you’d have to deal with it alone…”

Daryl took the few steps to stand in front of Rick and crouched down, eyelevel with the other man. The anger and disappointment had vanished just as quickly as they’d appeared a few moments ago.

“Hey,” he said. When Rick didn’t meet his eyes, he said it again. “Hey, man… ‘s ok. Now you said it right.”

Rick looked up.

“Nobody did nothin’ like that to me. Wasn’t ever even a threat. An’ I had no...what was it you said… ‘company’ there either. Hell, I didn’t exactly have opportunities for flirtin’, y’know. An’ wouldn’t’ve wanted to even if I had.” He paused.

“There are things I haven’t told you about, but they’re nothin’ like that. Just stuff that went on in my own head because of what they put me an’ you an’ all of us through. I ain’t ready to talk about it. That ok with ya?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, you scared the crap outta me. You been thinkin’ about that shit the whole day?”

“Pretty much. Negan was in my room before seven. It’s been a _long_ day. I couldn’t stop thinking… and then I just wanted to go on a killing spree, y’know. Wanted to come down here, too, but I couldn’t, the Saviors took their time and then we had the monthly meeting, and after that I had to take my shift at the gate. Y’know, business as usual.” Rick smiled tentatively. “You tell me when you’re ready. I ain’t going nowhere.”

Daryl chuckled. _I guess it’s my turn now._

“What’s so funny?”

“I’ve been worried too, the whole day, an’ then when you came in, all frowny an’ lookin’ constipated” (“Hey!!!”) “I thought, fuck, Rick’s angry an’ awkward an’ I dunno how to make this right.”

“But why would-”

“-the kiss,” Daryl blurted out, having decided that Dixons continued to not be chicken. “I thought that maybe you were really startin’ to have second thoughts about the whole sleepin’ arrangement and showers and stuff, since I made an idiot of myself this mornin’.” 

“Oh…”

“Yes, ‘oh’. So are we cool about that? ‘m sorry, y’know, didn’t mean to make ya feel awkward or anythin’.”

Daryl was still crouching in front of Rick. He stood up, knees cracking, and sat down by Rick’s side.

“Then what _did_ you mean?”

_And there’s that question._ What a god-awful friend that man was. Daryl took a deep breath. _Not chicken, remember?_

“I meant to kiss ya. Nothin’ more. Nothin’ less, either. But then you left in a hurry, an’ I had the whole day to beat myself up about bein’ such a giant jackass. I promise it won’t happen again, ya don’t have to worry.”

“So… you don’t want to kiss me anymore?” 

Rick crawled backwards to lean against the wall. Daryl followed suit and turned to look at his friend and kept his voice firm and calm.

“Didn’t say exactly that, did I? I _said_ I won’t bother you with that kind of stuff anymore. We’re friends, and that kiss right there’s the only thing I’m ever gonna do to risk that.” 

“So… you _do_ wanna kiss me?” Rick’s voice was light, almost… _No. Couldn’t be?_

Daryl raised his eyebrows. “Am I stutterin’ or what? Ya heard me, don’t fuck with me, man.”

Rick said nothing for a few minutes. He bit his lower lip, chewed on it, then grinned briefly.

“Just wanted to be real clear on this.” He changed the subject. “You ready to go?”

Daryl rerouted his thoughts back to the original program of today. “Gonna grab some clothes, then I’m good to go.”

Ten minutes later they were safely inside the house. It was dark in there.

“Where’s everyone,” Daryl whispered.

“You don’t need to whisper,” Rick smiled. “Michonne and Carl are on guard duty at the gates until midnight.”

“An’ Judith?”

“She’s at Rosita’s for tonight. We can’t take even the smallest risk that she sees you here and blurts out something. There’s not a whole lot of words she can say yet, but she knows how to say your name. Goes to show how important you are to her. But we don’t need her suddenly starting to chant your name and giving any ideas to anyone...”

“I miss her.”

“I know you do. She misses her Uncle Daryl as well.” The silence was heavy for a moment. Rick cleared his throat and went on. “Come on, let’s go. We can put on the lights but let’s first get you up to my room.”

“Your room… why? What’s wrong with my room?”

“Pretty hard to spend the night in the same bed if we’re in different rooms, dontcha think?” Rick’s tone was amused and warm, and it did nothing to calm down Daryl’s stupid, speeding heartbeat. _Sleeping together there or here, no difference, don’t be an idiot._

“The others...don’t mind?”

Rick raised his eyebrows, surprised. “What’s it to them, anyway, where we sleep? You need this, and I sleep better like this too, so why would it bother Carl or Michonne?”

Suddenly Daryl was impatient. Rick was being deliberately obtuse.

“You know exactly WHY it could bother someone. It MIGHT bother Carl that his dad was in bed with another man not only on a regular basis but actually only a few feet from him. It MIGHT bother your ex-girlfriend as well. Don’t ya think it might make them... think...that there-”

“I don’t care.” Rick’s words, clipped and categoric. “Michonne’s a grown-up, and she’s gone through her own hell. She knows what I meant when I said this is what you need. And Carl… if he has questions, he’s welcome to ask them. But...he won’t. He understands friendship. He would understand everything else as well.” Rick smiled fondly. “He’s grown into a pretty spectacularly awesome kid.”

Daryl looked at him, wondering. “You don’t care… but what if I do? Think about that?”

Rick raised his eyebrows. “No, I didn’t.” He frowned. “I’m sorry, I was being selfish. Well, do you care?”

Daryl snorted. “No. Just messin’ with ya. They’ve seen me in all kinds of conditions, gone through enough hells of their own. Don’t exactly wanna open up about all my shit to them but other than that… nah, they’re family.”

“And the other thing?”

“If you say you think they’d be ok, that’s enough for me.”

Rick looked at him, curiosity in his eyes. “Gotta say, you’ve changed. All this a few years ago, you wouldn’t’ve had such a calm attitude about stuff like this. People having any kind of idea that you might be going through a hard time... like, you worked real hard to keep your cool in front of everyone when Merle died. Or anyone suggesting you’re in a gay relationship -- you’d have punched their teeth in.”

“A Dixon grew up. Go figure.” Daryl paused to think. “Enough shit comes your way, some other doesn’t mean so much anymore. An’ maybe it just took me a long time to really start trustin’ people. Not many. But some.”

They stepped into Rick’s room and the leader closed the door and put on the lights. The huge bed dominating the room wasn’t as fancy as the original one but it was the best Rick had managed to find after Negan’s people had taken the old bed. 

“You go take a shower, I’ll go see if there’s something for us to eat. We can camp in here, it’s nicer, and we can keep the lights on.”

*****

The bright, clean bathroom, the warm water on his skin, the faintly lily-scented shampoo ( _where the fuck do they keep findin’ this stuff?_ ) felt inordinately good. Daryl didn’t mind a certain amount of dirt on himself, but for three long months it hadn’t been by any kind of a choice or necessity. He let himself enjoy this luxury of spending a few extra minutes under the flood of water. His hand hovered near his crotch; this would’ve been a good opportunity to take the edge off, before once again spending too much time too close to Rick, but in the end he decided against it. Rick might’ve already returned to the bedroom and the idea of jerking off only a few feet from Rick was...Well. Daryl wasn’t sure it would’ve really taken the edge _off_ by any stretch of imagination.

He turned the water off and toweled himself dry, and put on some clean clothes. God, it felt good! The humidity had fogged the mirror; he wiped it clear and took a good, long look at himself. He ran his hand through his hair to make it settle down but the long bangs kept falling down over his eyes. For once, he was almost too warm after the hot shower. He opened a few buttons on his thick flannel shirt, then a few more, until it was completely open and revealed several inches of skin. Not like Rick hadn’t seen it all before, during the years, but… Daryl swallowed. The way Rick had spoken made Daryl think -- guess, hope -- this might not be completely unwelcome. But how was he supposed to be _sure?_ He had no problem being assertive when he knew about things. And there were a lot of things he knew about. _This_ stuff wasn’t one of them, though, and he freely admitted it. 

Rick hadn’t minded the kiss, he knew that now. So… did that mean something?

_Fuck this dithering_. He forced the thoughts and second-guessing to come to a screeching halt, opened the door and stepped into the bedroom.

_-Rick-_

He’d brought bread, tomatoes and some rabbit meat, and was laying them on the floor along with two glasses and a jug of water, when he heard the door open. He turned around and stood up, his eyes on the goddamn _vision_ emerging from his bathroom. Yes, Daryl’s hair was too long, covering something that shouldn’t be covered, the man had gorgeous eyes for God’s sake; and yes, he was too thin, his beautiful cheekbones too sharp, his lower ribs too visible. But ye gods, the man was lovely to look at. Rick worried he might actually be drooling, but if he did, it was completely Daryl’s fault. The man hadn’t buttoned up his shirt, and inches and inches of skin and muscles and trails of body hair were...just… _there_.

The way Daryl straightened his shoulders and nibbled on his lip told Rick all he needed to know: the man was nervous. It wasn’t really his style to show so much skin; it warmed Rick’s heart that Daryl would trust him enough for this. The man was being just a tiny bit _forward_ , and Rick’s warm heart beat a little faster. His expression showed blatant appreciation as he dragged his gaze over Daryl’s ( _beautiful! strong! sexy!_ ) body and stopped at the hunter’s eyes. They were watching him closely -- waiting, wondering.

Rick had had a few minutes to think about what Daryl had said in the sewers. Even though the other man had been a bit roundabout about it, there was only one way to interpret what he’d said: he had wanted to kiss Rick, and he wouldn’t mind kissing him again. Rick hadn’t said anything, though, so Daryl had promised not to do it again, to not risk their friendship. Rick had wanted to snort but then again, he’d been just as worried after his first, reckless kiss at Hilltop.

Now, he had a feeling Daryl was waiting for his move. How he’d interpret this unusually laid-back shirt fashion? Would Rick be conspicuously ‘bro’ about it, would he be awkward and uncomfortable -- or would he be _interested?_

_Grow some balls, oh fearless leader!_

Rick smiled at the worried archer and sat down on the floor.

“Feel better?”

“Mmhm.”

“Come here. Eat something. You’re way too thin.”

Daryl gave a non-committal grunt and sat down maybe a foot away from the leader.

“Don’t mean I don’t like what I see. You’re gorgeous.” Rick swallowed. It was hard to breathe. That had been too much, right? Oh God...why couldn’t he just say _you look nice_ or something?

He’d never seen the hunter blush like that. He’d never seen _anyone_ blush like that, period. _Fucking adorable!_

“Don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. Just stating a fact,” Rick said oh so calmly, and popped a tiny piece of bread in his mouth.

Daryl’s eyes were downright suspicious when he glanced at Rick. “Ain’t nobody never said nothin’ like that before. What’s your point?”

Rick licked bread crumbs off his fingers, pretending not to notice Daryl’s eyes flicking to his mouth. 

“Oh, I got several. One, you’re too thin, you’ve lost too much weight, and I’m gonna fatten you up,” Rick smirked. Daryl snorted.

“Two, I’m gonna make it my mission in life to get you to understand how great you are.” Suddenly Rick went serious, his voice losing the flirtatious light-heartedness for a second. “It’s long overdue. I haven’t been saying it enough -- how vital you are to us. To me. And then I thought I lost you and I’d never get the chance. Well, I got it now, ain’t gonna waste it this time.”

Back to the light tone. “Part of the new policy is to tell you how fucking gorgeous you are. Absolutely stunning. A sight for sore eyes.”

Daryl squirmed in his place, staring at Rick half horrified, half amused. “What the fuck, man..?”

“Nuh-uh, shut up now and listen. My third point...” and now Rick couldn’t help it, his light tone faltered, “the third point is that I’m sort of trying to convince you to rethink the no-kissing policy. What I mean is, I seem to remember you said you didn’t want to bother me with stuff like that but, y’know, what if I’m _not_ bothered by it?”

Rick marshalled every drop of his courage and met Daryl’s stunned gaze.

The younger man stayed silent for a very long time, the blue eyes locked on Rick’s, drilling into him, searching, evaluating, trying to find the catch, the misunderstanding, the alternative interpretation on what Rick had just said.

Rick was a deputy and an apocalypse-era leader -- well equipped to handle all sorts of attempts at intimidation. He had learned early on in his career how to manage people’s efforts at staring him down. But this..? Daryl was weighing him, and he’d better not be found lacking.

Daryl narrowed his eyes; a degree of wariness froze his expression.

“You ain’t gotta do this, man.”

Rick blinked. “What? Gotta do what?”

Daryl turned his gaze down, picked up a piece of meat and twiddled it in his hands.

“You already spend your nights takin’ care of me. You ain’t gotta start kissin’ me just to coddle me some more. It’s a little over an’ beyond the call of duty. Ain’t gonna break, y’know.”

“I know you won’t.” Rick bit on his lip. “I’m not doing anything I don’t _want_ to do. Trust me, I really am not.”

He scooted closer to the tense hunter. Daryl’s eyes darted to Rick.

“Can I touch you?”

“Why’re ya askin’? Haven’t asked in a long time. Why now?”

“Feels like I oughta this time.” Rick hesitated. “Feels like it’s different.”

Daryl held his gaze, seemed to consider Rick’s words for a long while, then gave a tiny nod. Rick leaned towards him and brushed his fingers along Daryl’s arm, slowly up over his biceps and shoulder, until they met Daryl’s bare neck, and still they traveled up, traced Daryl’s jawline, touched the sharp cheekbone, drew the shape of his mouth. Rick’s eyes were glued on the other man, he could hardly believe this was actually happening -- that their vague, intangible flirting had changed into something tangible. Daryl’s eyes fluttered shut and his breath stuttered, just a bit, when Rick’s fingers threaded through his damp hair, and Rick’s other hand found its way to Daryl’s shoulder.

Rick moved closer, turned slightly so that his right leg was behind Daryl and the left one was resting along Daryl’s crisscrossed legs. Not the most comfortable position but Rick didn’t pay any attention whatsoever to it. All his focus was on the man whose chest was rising and falling quicker than usual, whose overly long hair was silky soft, whose lips were parted, whose tense muscles had started to relax… 

“Can I kiss you?” Rick heard his own voice, low and husky and hopeful. The effect of his words on Daryl wasn’t what he hoped, though. Daryl tensed up, his eyes opened, and the look in them was guarded and distrustful, all of a sudden as if they were back at the quarry again. Rick had no idea what he’d done wrong; he pulled his hands away slowly and was just about to open his mouth to say something, anything, when the hunter beat him to it. Daryl’s voice was a low snarl.

“I ain’t gonna be your little experiment. You wanna try out kissin’ a man, go find someone else.”

Daryl’s words and the barely concealed fury in his voice shook Rick. He hadn’t seen this coming. He struggled to keep his voice steady.

“What makes you think it’d be an experiment?”

“Convenient timing, dontcha think? Now you know I’m gay an’ not opposed to kissin’ ya, an’ you’ve just broken up with Michonne an’ all, so you’re kinda in between girlfriends an’ maybe it’s a good time to try out this new thing, an’ maybe you think I’m open to it, seeing as I kissed ya an’ what with the cuddlin’ an’ shit, an’-”

“Daryl…” Rick cut in on what was essentially Daryl’s incensed babble.

“What?” the other man snapped.

Rick drew a deep breath. Sometimes talking to Daryl still felt like walking a tightrope.

“Even if I’d be interested in trying out something like that, I’d never do this to you. Where do I even begin?? I’ve never been interested in men before, I feel no need to just _try out_ kissing a guy. And please believe me, I’d never treat you like a...a guinea pig. The only reason I’d want to kiss you is that I really _want_ to kiss you. You, just you, especially you. No-one else. And what you said about Michonne… God, that’s ironic… we need to talk about that, too, but later, please…”

Daryl stared at him, a flush on his face, eyes slightly less blazing. He cleared his throat and his voice was much calmer now.

“Sometimes, these past days...I thought you was… I guess ya could call it flirtin’, maybe… I just don’t have much experience with that so… an’ it’s _you_ , you of all people, so what was I supposed to think? That you’d be interested in me like... _that_? Ain’t possible, right? I told you about, y’know, what I am, an’ it just got worse, or better, an’ ya seemed to like the kiss, kinda, but ya cut it off so quickly an’ left, an’... now _this_ , so I had to _know_ , for sure, y’know… ain’t gonna be nobody’s experiment, least of all yours…” Daryl’s voice trailed off, his gaze drifted away and the flush deepened, like he’d just realized what he’d implied.

“Least of all mine?” Rick’s heart did a funny little skip.

The hunter brushed his bangs aside and cleared his throat again, awkward, but head held up high, proud and shy at the same time. “Well...yeah,” Daryl started, but then they were interrupted by the front door banging loud and steps running up the stairs. 

“Dad? Daryl?” Carl wasn’t exactly shouting but it was close.

Rick gave Daryl a half-smile. “Hold that thought, will ya?” He shifted to a less intimate sitting position just in time to greet his grinning son who pushed open the door without knocking. _To be fair, the door wasn’t closed. Carl knows better than to barge into anyone’s closed bedroom without knocking first._

“Whatcha doin’ here? Thought you had guard duty ‘til midnight?” Daryl asked, finally starting to eat the piece of meat he’d twirled in his fingers.

“Michonne let me go early. Tara came to talk to her and decided to stay there to keep her company. So, what’s up? You gonna stay the night?” 

“Yeah, that’s the plan. Just have to get back at the crack of dawn. Just in case, y’know.”

Carl turned to Rick.

“Dad, would it be ok if Jonah came here for tonight?”

Rick frowned. “Sure… just to hang out or what?”

“To stay the night.” Carl grimaced. “You know his parents… they’re _this_ close to splitting up and Jonah said they’re at their shouting phase again and he really wouldn’t want to listen to it all night long…”

Rick’s frown deepened. “I didn’t know it’s that bad. Is there a risk of violence?” The deputy in Rick was showing, his voice all business.

“No, it’s not like that… just shouting and nasty words. I bumped into him on my way home and just thought I’d ask.”

“Sure, no problem -- just remember to be careful, he can’t know Daryl’s here. Where’s he gonna sleep?”

“He can stay in my room if he wants to. We can take the mattress from Daryl’s room.” Carl glanced quickly at Daryl, amused. “It’s not like he’d use it, anyway.”

Rick’s peripheral vision saw the tip of Daryl’s ear turn adorably pink. Rick kept his gaze calmly on Carl. The boy knew perfectly well where his dad spent his nights, and how, and with whom. There was no mystery there: Rick hadn’t told him about Daryl’s problems in any detail but Carl knew the gist of it. In that light, there was no reason to assume Carl had referred to anything else. And Rick stood by what he’d said to Daryl earlier: if Carl had questions, he’d be welcome to ask them.


	5. Doubt & Confession

_-Daryl-_

Well. Shit. Carl’s snide little comment took him by surprise. The boy didn’t mean anything bad by it, and of course Carl had to have been aware that his dad hadn’t been spending nights at home. Still, he felt a bit hot around the ears as he stuffed more rabbit and bread into his mouth.

He’d thought he’d been ready for it when he’d stepped out the bathroom with his shirt open an’ all.

Well, he hadn’t been. Rick’s point-blank question had thrown him badly, for some reason awoken every unpleasant feeling ever, made him dizzy with suspicion and fear. ‘cause it couldn’t be otherwise, right? Never mind every single hesitatingly hopeful thought he’d had the past week... it couldn’t be? Those kinds of things just didn’t happen to him. Dixons didn’t get what they wanted. It had to be a trick somehow.

The term surfaced: regression. He’d _regressed_ in a flash, years back, lost his footing. If there were still shrinks in this world, they’d lean back and explain to him in a bored voice that he was stupid, that he’d been through some pretty heavy stuff the past months, that regression and losing his faith were only to be expected, along with the shivering and the nightmares an’ all that jazz.

Freakin’ awesome.

He’d come back from it, though. Rick had stayed calm -- that had helped. And then Carl had stumbled in, like a goddamn comic relief. _If we weren’t in a fuckin’ mortal danger 24/7, this’d feel like a fuckin’ teen comedy. Fuck._ Daryl stuffed more food into his mouth, to keep in the sudden burst of hilarity.

Carl went downstairs to let Jonah inside and get him settled. The men closed Rick’s bedroom door -- not a good idea for an outsider to see Daryl in the house. 

“Sorry about this.”

“Not your fault. Can’t hardly NOT let the kid come in. We’ll manage. I’ll climb out the fuckin’ window in the morning if I have to.”

“Nah, the boy will sleep in if I know anything about teenagers. He’ll never notice you leave in the morning.”

They listened to the boys talking and carrying the mattress to Carl’s room further down the corridor. Rick munched on the tomatoes and kept throwing quick glances at Daryl. The hunter wasn’t sure what to do. Should he continue where they’d left off?

“Daryl?” Rick’s voice was kind.

“Yeah?”

“There’s no rush. We don’t need to talk about this any more tonight if you don’t want to. Only...I’d hate for you to go to bed thinking that I’d try to...to use you somehow. This is not some sexuality crisis and I’m not a teenager trying out different things to figure out if something fits. This is _me_ , Daryl. Have I ever lied to you? You’re my _family_ , man… and I’ve already wronged you enough, I wouldn’t… And if you want me to back off, I will. Just… I meant what I said before. Would you...could you please tell me you believe me?”

Rick’s blue eyes were bright with sincerity. And now that Daryl had bounced back from the pit of regression, or panic attack or whatever, his mind was clear once again. He still didn’t quite have words for this thing between them but yeah, Rick wouldn’t lie about something like this.

Daryl was tired all of a sudden. How was this shit more exhausting than fighting your way through a herd of walkers? He put down the slice of bread he’d been picking to pieces and rubbed his eyes.

“I believe ya. Got no reason not to. ‘m sorry about… all that. ‘m sorry.” 

Rick’s hand on his shoulder was warm and solid.

“Don’t be sorry.” Rick chuckled quietly. “I can sort of get why you’d think the worst… it’s different now, isn’t it? Who’d thought we’d be having these kinds of discussions now. Look where we started, right? Remember the first days at the quarry?”

Daryl’s lip twitched. He remembered. The violence, the anger, the distrust, the ‘get your hands off me!” Hell, he’d just paid a quick visit to those feelings a few minutes ago. Somehow it now felt just a tiny bit amusing. Oh, the simpler times of holding guns to each other’s heads!

Rick scrambled up, knees popping. He grimaced. “Sure ain’t twenty anymore!”

He held out his hand to Daryl. “Come on. We need to get up early tomorrow.”

Daryl grabbed his hand to get up. He walked to the bed and hesitated. He glanced back at Rick. The other man was looking at him, a hand on the button of his shirt. The question was written plainly on Rick’s face. Daryl swallowed. This was a bit ridiculous. They were inside, it was warm, alright? He shucked his shirt off but that was as far as he had the nerve to go. He was wearing clean pants anyway, and who knew if he had to leave in a hurry in the morning, he rationalized.

Daryl climbed into bed and pulled the blanket over himself. Rick was still standing there, slowly opening the buttons, his eyes pools of black as he looked at Daryl. The hunter shivered, and it really, really wasn’t because of cold. He was almost relieved to notice Rick follow his lead and leave the pants on. Rick switched on the table lamp, switched off the ceiling light, slipped under the blankets and turned on his side to look at Daryl. He didn’t say anything for a long time, just looked at Daryl, eyes serious.

“Do you want to-” Rick stopped, tried again. “It’s ok if you don’t want to come closer. Like I said, it’s different now, and I get it. You decide, ok? Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

Daryl had never been more conscious of his body. His skin against the sheets felt overly sensitive. The sight of Rick’s bare chest made his brain go haywire. Whichever way they would be -- him holding Rick, Rick holding him -- it would mean unprecedented amounts of skin on skin. On one hand, there was the overwhelming urge to burrow himself in Rick, to hold him close like they had done but _different_ this time. He wanted to feel every inch of his skin. A surge of _want_ went through him, so all-consuming and powerful it scared him. He didn’t know how to handle the feeling, how to keep himself from losing control.

And on the other hand… he felt the worry, the panic, the fear of losing control, of not knowing what to do, of not being good enough. It was all churning right there, under the surface. His fuckin’ _insecurities_ had burst through only minutes ago -- what if it did that again? What would happen then?

“You don’t mind if I don’t…” his voice trailed off.

Rick gave him a small smile. “No, I don’t mind. Gotta be honest with you though… there’s this goddamned gorgeous person in my bed with me, wearing next to nothing, and I’d like nothing better than to get my hands on him.”

Daryl chuckled and felt a blush on his face. 

“Yeah, well, self-restraint builds character.”

Rick’s smile widened. 

“Ain’t that the truth. I’m so glad you’re here to provide these valuable lessons for me.” Quickly, he leaned closer and gave a small kiss, his lips landing on Daryl’s cheek, just below his eye. “Good night, darlin’.”

“Shut up…” But there was laughter in Daryl’s voice. The hunter closed his eyes and sensed a stupid grin on his face. He knew how he felt about the other man. And contrary to everything he’d ever believed, it seemed there was a chance -- a _good_ chance, even? -- that Rick might, maybe, have some feelings for him, too.

Daryl relaxed, he was warm and comfy and there was still the echo of Rick’s lips on his cheek, and sleep took over-

> _(but where did this come from? a bit sudden, this Rick’s new-found attraction for ya, dontcha think? what happened with Michonne, huh? d’you really think it’s plausible that_ **_never_ ** _during these years had Rick sweet-talked to you like this before, or wanted to touch you like this -- it’s just a ‘coincidence’ that it happened just after you’d made your big confession? then you went and_ **_kissed_ ** _the guy, opened the door to him and invited in -- “yeah, try me, kiss me, fuck me” -- you all but gave him a written invitation, you fuckin’ idiot! so he ‘realizes’ he’d like to do just that, my my what a coincidence! you pitiful, gullible little faggot! what the hell do you expect will happen? Rick’s goin’ through a phase, you fool...remember Lori, Jessie, Michonne?_ **_what the hell do you expect from this???_ ** _there’s no hand-holding in the horizon, no kissing in public for you. has Rick said anything about having feelings for you? other than wanting to ‘touch’ you, right…? and you know what that means, right? how do you expect this to end?? you’re a fuckin’ moron! why’re you doing this to yourself? haven’t been tortured enough yet, hhhmh? it’s never gonna happen for you, Dixon, you just don’t get that, do ya? why on god’s green earth would you believe that someone like Rick would fall for someone like you? a messed-up, battered, damaged, scarred, jittery li’l piece of redneck trash -- useful piece of trash no doubt, a trusted sidekick, granted, but hardly relationship material. god, you’re pathetic… you with your open shirt, presenting yourself to him like the goddamn slut that you are... Rick’s just waiting for you to give in to your sad, needy urges, then he’ll collect...)_

The voice was whispering and screaming and his heart thumped an uneven drumbeat to accompany the vicious monologue, _and it wouldn’t go away it wouldn’t go away_

“Shut up shut up shut up shut up...”

He heard a tiny whimper, pleading words, begging sounds, a voice not unlike the one saying those _things_ ; he was drowning drowning drowning… He felt strong hands on himself, shaking him, dragging him up 

> _(maybe wanting to hurt me I deserve it all the hurt I deserve it nothing else)_

“Daryl, wake up. Now. Wake up, come on, open your eyes, darlin’...”

The blurry blackness shifted; he saw Rick looming over him, shaking him with both hands. 

“Oh thank God… you with me now, Daryl?”

He didn’t answer, he grabbed the other man and tugged him close. Rick landed on him with a quiet “oomph” as the air was punched out of his lungs, and it would’ve been funny except Daryl couldn’t concentrate on that, not right now. He needed the feel of Rick, his warmth. He needed to know he wasn’t alone.

“Goddamnit, Daryl,” Rick mumbled, face buried in Daryl’s neck. He shifted and raised his head to look at the hunter. “Stop scaring me, alright?” 

Daryl bit his lip.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I woke up some time ago, I heard you… You were all tensed up, whimpering, and I tried to wake you up but you wouldn’t, and then you started saying ‘shut up’ over and over again, and I don’t know if you said it to me or to...something else. It was almost ten minutes, man, I was worried…”

Daryl’s jaw moved tensely. He would _not_ stay a slave to these fears. They were like walkers in his mind, munching away at his resolve, his strength, and he would _not_ let it continue. He would _not_ let the legacy of his dad, of Negan, poison everything good that he’d found these past years. Enough!

“I gotta ask you something.”

Rick lifted his hand and caressed Daryl’s cheek. The touch was so goddamn gentle, Daryl had to do some furious blinking for a few seconds just to keep fuckin’ _tears_ from his eyes. 

“Ask away. Don’t want to wait til morning?”

“No. I gotta do this right now. Gotta get it off my mind. Might help with the...the…” Daryl didn’t know what to call it.

“The thing you told to shut up?”

Daryl nodded.

_Out with it._ Daryl steeled himself. No way this wasn’t gonna be embarrassing.

“D’you want me?”

“Yes.” Rick’s answer was immediate and firm, no hesitation.

Ok. He’d known that, right? No surprise there, he’d deduced as much. Now for the hard part.

“Why?”

Rick was leaning on his elbow, his other hand on Daryl’s chest. His hand moved on Daryl’s cheek, his thumb caressed his skin, nail scraping on Daryl’s facial hair. It was such a tender touch, and Daryl hoped, oh God how he hoped…

“Two reasons. One: You’re sexy as hell, and I’d be crazy not to want you.” Rick smiled briefly, and kept on gliding his fingertips on Daryl’s face. “Two… that’s a little more complicated. Bigger as well. I want you because… because want means more than just, y’know, _that_. I _want_ you, I want to _be_ with you, I want to hug you and kiss you and hold your hand and go to sleep with you and wake up with you. I want you because...” 

Rick’s eyes darted away and Daryl sensed how his hand trembled. The man was nervous now. Daryl tried to damp down the hope but it just kept on pushing and pushing, determined to stay afloat now.

Rick’s gaze returned, and the blue eyes met another set of blue eyes.

“...because I love you.”

Oh God.

Oh fuck!

Daryl’s hopes hadn’t been set quite that high. Even in the secret and silent corners of his mind he’d never dared to hope for that much.

Rick _loved_ him?

Since when??

“Since when?” Daryl’s voice was so low it was barely audible.

“Since… I don’t know. Years, most likely. But I’m a moron who doesn’t know his ass from his nose -- Michonne’s words, by the way -- so it took me a while to know what’s what.”

Rick looked away again, nibbled his lip, uneasy and awkward. “This was probably too much, I know… but you asked, and anyway, I thought it was just fair to tell you. I mean, you told me you’re gay and I know that must’ve taken a lot outta you, so I can hardly be less brave than you, can I?” Rick glanced at Daryl and forced a small smile. “I hope I haven’t made things worse now…”

Daryl swallowed. “No. You haven’t.”

“Can I ask you something now?”

“Sure.”

“Who were you telling to shut up?”

“Dunno, really. Myself, probably.” To hell with it. He can hardly embarrass himself _more_ , he can tell the rest of the sorry tale. “Them three months, they messed me up but good… been hearing voices an’ stuff. An’ they ain’t nice voices neither. Tellin’ me things nobody should hear. I guess it’s a jumble of Negan an’ my dad an’ my own worst doubts. Stephen King could take a correspondence course, I’m tellin’ ya -- I’ve got some weird shit goin’ on in there. Scares the crap outta me anyways.”

Daryl dared to move his own hands, let them travel softly on Rick’s back, skimming his fingertips on Rick’s vertebrae.

“Remember Merle?”

Rick’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Sure…? What’s he got to do with this?”

“Remember what I told ya, back in Atlanta. That he’s a tough son of a bitch. Feed him a hammer, he'd crap out nails. Well, for what it’s worth -- an’ it ain’t much -- I’m a Dixon too, an’ I ain’t gonna be less tough than my idiot brother was. So, it’s gotta stop, the dreams an’ shit. Gotta start takin’ down those doubts one by one. Takin’ weapons away from my fucked up brain.”

Rick nodded several times. “So you asked.”

“So I asked. Stop with this guessin’ shit. I ain’t a simperin’ schoolkid, for fuck’s sake.”

Daryl ran his fingertips down Rick’s sides, pressed the nails in just a little. Rick closed his eyes briefly and shivered. 

_Let’s get to the bottom of this thing._

“Why did you an’ Michonne break up?”

Rick sighed and glanced at his watch. “The discussions we have at four a.m…. This couldn’t wait either, I’m guessing?”

“Nope.”

“I broke it up. It was a few days after you and Negan paid us a visit. I still don’t know why that was a trigger of sorts. Worse than what happened in the clearing. Seeing you like that. Me carrying that fucking bat around like a faithful dog. I couldn’t do anything for you. And then I watched you in the back of that truck, and I thought, I’ll never see him again. It killed me inside. I didn’t question it, I didn’t ask myself why that brought out this reaction and not something else, but the fact was that when I returned home, went to bed with Michonne, all I heard in my head was, ‘what am I doing here? what am I doing with her?’. 

I felt nothing. I felt **_I_ ** was nothing. Days went by but nothing changed. I couldn’t get you out of my head, and all I could think of was ‘what am I gonna do? how am I a leader if I can’t even do anything for my best friend?’. I kept thinking I’d lost you. That the next thing out of the Sanctuary would be your coffin. That I’d have to bury you. Maybe drive a knife through your head. I had nightmares of that. 

And there was Michonne, and I felt nothing for her. Polite respect. Family feeling. Nothing more. And I thought it’s not fair to her, to keep her hanging like that, when my mind is so fuckin’ preoccupied with other worries.” Rick snorted. “So I told her, all of it, the whole string of thoughts, causes and effects. I told her I was too messed up to be in a relationship...that I’d just lost my self-respect and my best friend...that I didn’t know how I’d handle a world where you wouldn’t be dealing with this shit by my side. She flipped out. It took her whole of three seconds to get where the problem was. Which is pretty good considering I hadn’t got it in years, and after that first fight it still took me the next two months to get there. Apparently I’m not that good at listening to what comes out of my own mouth.”

Rick lowered his head, pressed his lips on Daryl’s temple and gave tiny little kisses all the way down to the corner of his mouth. Daryl had to actively prevent himself from fuckin’ _purring_ like a kitten.

“She blamed you for messing with my head. She blamed me too, she said I had more affection for you than for her. That things had been ok between us but the second you appeared with Negan -- alive and well, she shouted, so why was I so fuckin’ freaked out for that -- I just turned all my attention to you. That’s not the way relationships or friendships work, she yelled. Things _hadn’t_ been ok between us since the clearing, actually, but yeah, like I said, that visit was a trigger, big time. She accused me of stringing her along, keeping her as a placeholder. She demanded to know why we’d got together in the first place, and if maybe I’d been having a little side affair with you all along.”

Daryl grimaced. _Wow. When Michonne loses it, she really doesn’t do it halfway._

“I thought she was crazy. Honestly, the thought crossed my mind. That the stress had got to her, too. I kept telling her you’re my best friend, and all the rest is crazy talk. She wouldn’t hear any of it, called me a two-timing louse, and she had some colorful words for you, too. Somehow she felt you were in on this -- a sort of a threesome without her having been aware of the proceedings.”

“Eww,” Daryl scrunched up his nose. “Ok, at least now I know why she was acting like that at Hilltop.”

“I tried to humor her, tried to ask what I thought were reasonable questions. Like, why would I even _do_ something like that, all this convoluted love triangle? If I was so in love with you, then why was I with her? She had half a dozen alternative explanations to that and many other questions I tried to ask. Michonne’s smart as a whip, and it wasn’t fun to be on the receiving end of that whip… Weeks passed like that, I just couldn’t get my head out of my ass... Gotta admit, your visit and Negan and all of it really pushed me down. It took -- unfortunately -- the whole thing with Carl and Spencer and Rosita and Olivia and Eugene to snap me out of it. The next day, we were at Hilltop and… well, you know the rest.”

“I’m guessin’ you found out ‘chonne had been right all along, at some point. When did that happen?” 

“The first night at Hilltop. When I kissed you. It was like a bell went off in my head. I got out of your room and tried to learn to breathe again. Man, I was freaked out.” Rick shook his head. “Not my proudest moment. How can I have been so stupid? Another one of those moments was when you told me you were gay. A perceptive police officer, that’s me.”

Daryl’s mouth twitched in amusement. Rick continued.

“So, now you know the whole sorry story. I’ve been an idiot, and I’ve probably said too much. I wasn’t gonna… mess things up with a freakin’ love confession… You had plenty on your plate as it was, wouldn’t hardly need that on top of everything else, but you went off the deep end with my question about the kiss, so had to tell you. I had to make you understand that you’re so goddamn _far_ from being an experiment.” 

Rick’s hand traveled to Daryl’s hair, fingers threaded through long bangs. Daryl watched him, how his eyes glided over Daryl’s face, scanning and memorizing, his gaze like a caress on Daryl’s skin. Daryl saw him lick his lips, and the wetness made Rick’s mouth glisten in the faint light of the bedside lamp. The hunter’s heart thudded too fast but there was nothing threatening about it this time. He cleared his throat, didn’t want to sound all squeaky and breathless.

“Ask me again.”

“Can I kiss you?”

_This was them at their best. This is how it used to work: a raised eyebrow and a nod, a tilt and a shrug, a look and a shake of the head -- an action and a reaction, in tandem, like reading minds. This is how it used to work, and maybe it can again._

“Yeah.”


	6. Wanna see you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to you all, you wonderful fellow TWD & Rickyl fans ❤️ 🎄

_-Rick-_

He didn’t waste a second; their lips met almost before the word was out of Daryl’s mouth. Rick tried to control himself, he really did, but his whole being was screaming ‘ _Finally!!!!’_ and he relished the taste and feel of Daryl’s mouth. His hands strayed, mapping out Daryl’s naked skin, and _God_ how he wished there were even less clothes involved.

Rick wasn’t the only one going just a bit wild. Daryl was holding him tight, his fingers dug into Rick’s chest and sides and back and -- _Jesus…_ \-- hips so hard they’d leave bruises. As if Rick cared. Every time Daryl’s blunt fingernails raked on his skin, the slight pain triggered thunderbolts in his head, and they flashed and flickered in his eyes.

He couldn’t stop the moans, it took everything he had to keep it low, and he almost lost that fight when Daryl bit into his neck and sucked, and hooked his leg over Rick’s and pulled their groins together and rocked and rocked and rocked…

Rick tore himself away, put a few inches between them.

“Wait,” he panted.

The answer he got was more of a growl than words. Daryl watched him under hooded eyes like a predator watches its prey, and for a moment Rick couldn’t remember why the hell he had stopped the things they’d been doing. 

_Oh, yes._

“The first time this happens with you I ain’t gonna come in my pants. Wanna touch you. Wanna _see_ you.”

Daryl’s eyes cleared and the death grip he had on Rick’s hip loosened. 

“Fuck…”

Rick gave a wide, wicked grin. “Oh, we will. Maybe not today. But we will.”

Daryl groaned. “Gonna kill me, old man.”

“Nah, just gonna take your clothes off.” 

Rick slid his palm down Daryl’s stomach, felt the abs contract, followed the faint trail of body hair under the waistband, and stopped right there. _Pants off, get more groping done that way_ , he ordered his lust-addled brain.

Daryl touched his hand.

“Let me. You take yours off.”

They squirmed out of their pants and underwear. The blankets still covered them both.

_I need to see him. Jesus….I get to look at him...I get to touch everything..._

“May I?” Rick started to push Daryl’s blanket aside. He slid it slowly downwards, waiting for his confirmation.

“Mmmhm.” Sounded like he was holding his breath. But Daryl wasn’t one to just wait for things to happen to him, so Rick wasn’t unduly surprised when he yanked Rick’s blanket away with one swift tug.

_So much for slow and romantic_ , Rick thought and grinned to himself. _Hadn’t they already waited years for this, though? Can’t get any slower than that, for fuck’s sake… And romance? Who says there can’t be romance… after?_

Daryl tried to draw him closer but Rick propped himself up on his elbow.

“Wanna see you.”

The dauntless hunter blushed, and Rick was of two minds, whether to kiss the man silly, or snigger at the adorable sight. He decided to go with the kissing -- but only after he had his fill with the watching.

Rick’s eyes wandered over Daryl’s body with no plan, no route... he tried to take it all in at once -- the broad chest, the too-slim waist, the long, muscular legs, the half-hard cock filling up under his gaze.

Daryl’s arms tensed up a few times; Rick wondered if he fought against the need to cover himself. Rick didn’t want him to, he wanted to _see_ , he wanted to _touch_... he’d been stupid and blind for such a long time, they might’ve had this for...maybe even ever since the prison.

His fingers itched to touch, so he put his palm on Daryl’s stomach, ran it up and down, curled his fingers a little, let the nails graze lightly. He wanted to be careful… he could still see the fading bruises, the healing cuts on Daryl’s body; the man had been hurt enough.

He wanted to taste the man, so he kissed him, licked his skin, bit lightly on a perked nipple. He felt the quickening heartbeat, he heard Daryl’s breathing grow ragged. Then the archer pounced; he gripped Rick’s shoulders, forced him down on his back, and straddled him, all in one blink of an eye.

“Ya ain’t the only one who needs to see,” Daryl said in a thick voice. “Couldn’t before. Thought you’d notice, an’ what the hell would I have answered if you’d asked about it. It would’ve just messed everything up. So I never looked.”

That was true -- Rick remembered how Daryl had never shared a shower in the prison. Not conspicuously; he’d just always taken great care to never be there at the same time as Rick. The leader hadn’t thought about it much; he’d figured the hunter was a private person, simple as that. And in any case, ‘why won’t you shower with me’ wasn’t usually a great question to ask from another man. Which was all kinds of ironic in this situation, considering.

He put his arms behind his head and smirked at the man. “I highly doubt it would’ve messed up anything. Could’ve whacked some sense into my stupid-ass brain a bit sooner.”

Daryl’s eyes roamed on him, and Rick’s dick stirred hopefully as the hunter tilted his head, bit his lip, and stared at it. His gaze flicked up and met Rick’s, and Daryl leaned down to kiss him, and their cocks brushed against each other. 

A lightning bolt rippled through the leader.

“Goddamnit,” he gasped.

“‘s good?” Daryl murmured in his ear, and bit on the lobe. Their hips found a rocking rhythm; Rick’s hands settled hard on Daryl’s ass, and he was drunk from the feel of the muscles flexing under his palms, from the feel of the delicious friction of their cocks.

Daryl pushed himself up and scooted backwards. His hand was wrapped around Rick’s dick before the leader even had time to react.

“...what..?”

“Ya should know ‘m probably gonna be shit at this,” the archer said without looking at Rick. “I ain’t exactly got a helluva lot of practice.” 

Daryl’s eyes were glued on the motion of his hand on Rick’s cock. Pearls of precum trickled down the shaft, and suddenly Daryl’s tongue was _there_ , and then his lips closed around the head, and all of Rick’s thought processes came to an abrupt halt.

Rick floated in pleasure. He cracked his eyes open and met Daryl’s gaze; the man was watching him, trying to gauge Rick’s reactions, unsure of himself. Daryl took in as much of Rick as he could and pulled back so goddamn slow, his tongue doing _things_ at the same time… 

Seeing him like that, feeling his mouth -- Rick didn’t have coherent words to describe it. He gripped Daryl’s hair, tangled his fingers in the hunter’s messy strands, and Daryl gave the tiniest moan. Rick sensed the sound on his cock and thought he might just lose his mind. He forced himself to control his hand so he wouldn’t push Daryl’s head, make him take more than he was capable of taking, but oh God how he wanted...wanted to fuck that gorgeous mouth…

“Daryl,” he panted, “Daryl… Jesus… you’re so good, yeah...fuck, ya make me crazy…” The words escaped him -- they weren’t meant to be a motivational speech but the uncertainty vanished from the hunter’s gaze, and the next thing Rick knew was the _frickin’ awesome_ feel of Daryl’s tongue laving his balls.

Then Daryl’s blunt fingernails scraped on the tender underside of his thigh and, like a reaction, Rick bent his leg. He closed his eyes; he sensed Daryl’s mouth on his balls, his hands on his thighs, on his ass, felt them spread him… The mouth left him, and the leader of Alexandria gave a very undignified whimper. Daryl chuckled, a tense, raspy sound, and kneaded his ass, and instinctively, Rick lifted his legs a little.

“Fuck…” Daryl’s voice gave up and he cleared his throat. “Ya have any idea what ya look like..? I… Jesus, Rick… Can I… can I touch ya?”

Daryl hadn’t specified what exactly he wanted to touch, but Rick sort of had an idea. And anyway, at this point, the hunter could’ve asked for permission to flay him alive and Rick would’ve probably cried yesyesyesplease!, so this was a no-brainer. He opened his eyes to meet Daryl’s heated gaze.

“I’m yours to touch,” he whispered, and immediately felt like smacking himself, _geeeeeez what a mushy thing to say_ … but the way a flicker of vulnerable wonder mingled in the heat of Daryl’s eyes made him realize that maybe he hadn’t fucked up at all. Maybe there were worse things than being a little mushy from time to time.

Daryl licked his middle finger until it was wet and dripping with saliva, and brushed lightly on the crinkled skin of Rick’s hole. He couldn’t stop the violent shiver, and Daryl’s eyes snapped up.

“Ya sure it’s ok? Don’t hurt or nothin’?”

“I’m sure,” the words came out strangled and breathy. “‘s just new.”

Daryl grew bolder, his finger more insistent, and the sense of someone inside of him made the hairs on Rick’s arms stand on end. It was a strange feeling -- not bad, just strange, and he almost held his breath as he was trying to catch every single sensory message his body was sending him.

“Breathe, Rick… Ya gotta relax. I don’t know much but I do know that.” Daryl’s eyes were on his finger moving slowly in and out, and every _in_ was just a bit deeper, and Rick’s cock was painfully hard. He grasped Daryl’s free arm and pulled. The hunter looked at him, leaned by his side, and then they were kissing and Rick moaned into his lover’s hot mouth. Daryl’s finger didn’t stop, and the burn turned pleasant and then Daryl touched something that sent bolts of pleasure through him. Rick gasped, and Daryl chuckled and nipped his lower lip.

“Feel good?”

“Oh God yes..!”

“That’s your prostate, in case ya didn’t know. Ya really haven’t ever..?”

“No…-Jesus!” Rick panted. “Can we maybe -- oh fuck! -- talk about our sexual histories later?” Rick could barely form words; Daryl was hitting the prostate every time, and Rick was fast losing his fuckin’ mind.

Daryl laughed, a low, happy, breathless rumble, and swallowed up Rick’s moans with kisses. Rick felt Daryl’s hard cock fuck against his hip as the hunter sought friction. Rick pushed against Daryl’s finger and whimpered in pleasure; the warmth in his belly was intensifying and the pressure was mounting up and-

“Ya like that?” He could barely recognize Daryl’s voice, the husky growl of it. The hunter’s pupils were dilated and feverish. “Ya like how I’m fuckin’ ya? Hunh?”

“Ohgodyeah… I need… I…”

“What d’ya need?” Daryl glanced down and Rick’s eyes followed. His dick was red and rock hard and dripping precum on his belly. “Touch it. Wanna watch ya touch yerself. Wanna see ya come.”

Rick stroked his cock and couldn’t keep in a loud gasp. His hand working on his cock, Daryl’s greedy finger inside of him, fucking him, triggering pleasure bolts, and Daryl’s hot wet cock against his skin… “Daryl… gonna come...gonna…”

The only answer he got was Daryl’s ragged whimper, and it was enough. It was an explosion, his body went tense as an iron rod, and white dots danced in his eyes, hot waves spread all over his body, and warm cum splashed on his stomach. And then the rippling sense of calm satisfaction, the feeling like all his muscles weighed a thousand pounds and he didn’t ever want to move…

“You’re so fuckin’ hot, Rick...can’t believe that happened…” Daryl pulled his finger out of Rick’s hole, slow and careful, but the way his hips still pumped against Rick reminded him that this wouldn’t be perfect until he got to see Daryl burst out in pleasure, too. So he pushed the man on his back, scraped down his chest and belly with his nails, and Daryl gave a low howl, his hips convulsed, and he hissed, “Don’t fuck with me, man, wanna have your hand on me _now_.”

The tone, the unhesitant _need_ in it was a goddamn turn-on, and Rick’s blissed-out dick gave a dizzy little twitch. Rick purred a soft laugh and gripped Daryl’s leaking cock. 

“At your service,” he murmured, and grazed with his teeth over Daryl’s nipple. His whole body arched and his cock twitched violently in Rick’s hand. The leader stroked, felt it harden even more, and the way Daryl’s head snapped back on the pillow and his mouth opened in silent scream told him the hunter was close. Rick bit on his nipple, sucked on it hard, and Daryl’s cock pulsed in his hand, and he turned his head just in time to see a perly jet of cum burst on Daryl’s belly and chest.

Rick unwrapped his fingers, tilted his head and looked at the splashes of cum. Daryl’s chest rose and fell fast, the man panted a breathy “Jesus fuck…”, and the corners of Rick’s mouth lifted in a smile.

Daryl noticed his gaze.

“Whatcha lookin’?”

He didn’t answer. He licked his lips and leaned down; he tasted the cum with a tip of his tongue, and again, and licked clean a splash that had landed on Daryl’s ribs, and paid no attention to the surprised gasp from the hunter.

“Rick..? What-”

Rick glanced up.

“What? Wanna taste you. You got something against it?” he replied, and sucked in another splash.

Daryl was speechless for a moment. 

“Umm…” he began, but got no further because Rick kissed him, dipped his tongue in Daryl’s mouth and Daryl sucked on it. “Ok,” he said in a faint voice, and cleared his throat. “So that’s what I taste like...Live an’ learn.”

Rick chuckled and put his head on Daryl’s shoulder, wrapped his arm around him. 

“Dunno about you but I thought that was frickin’ _excellent_ ,” he said, hearing the smile in his own voice. “I hereby declare that sex with Daryl Dixon is my new favorite thing in the whole wide world.”

“Pssh… Yer an idiot.” 

Daryl sounded off -- his words playful, his tone...not so much. Rick looked up and was surprised and worried as he saw that Daryl had covered his face with his hand, and what little Rick could see of his face was bright crimson.

The pleasant, happy warmth that had settled in Rick’s heart and body turned ice cold in a heartbeat. Oh God… was Daryl having second thoughts? He’d implied he didn’t have much experience so...had sex not been what he’d expected? Sex with _Rick_ not what he’d expected? Was he regretting the whole thing? Would this be the thing that destroyed their friendship? 

Trying to avoid a full-blown panic, Rick touched Daryl’s hand.

“What’s wrong, Daryl? Please, just... what’s wrong?”

The hunter wouldn’t lift his hand off his face so the words came out muffled and indistinct.

“I’m so… God… dunno what to say… the way I spoke...Jesus Christ…”

Rick played back everything that had been said within the last however-long-it-had-taken. Frankly, he didn’t see a problem. Nothing out of the ordinary had been said by neither of them. Just your basic babble, the product of lust-addled brains during a thoroughly great sex-

Oh. Was that the problem? Christ...what was he gonna say? How could he put Daryl’s mind at rest? 

“Daryl,” he tried, searching for words, “you said nothing wrong. Please believe me. _Nothing_ wrong. Can I ask you something?”

Daryl nodded.

“Did you enjoy the stuff we did? Did it feel good, all of it? Don’t think about anything you _said_ \-- just the things we _did_. Was it good?”

The hunter nodded again.

“Ok, that’s ok then. So…” Fuck, he wasn’t good at stuff like this! “...so, next question… Did something _I_ said bother you?”

Daryl shook his head. The hand still didn’t budge.

“Alright then… so why would you think that something _you_ said was a problem? Was something not true?”

Another shake.

“Fine. Good. Then...I don’t see the problem here. Please tell me why’re you feeling bad about it.”

Nothing happened.

Rick caressed Daryl’s hand, brushed his fingers, grasped his wrist gently and gave the tiniest tug imaginable. He didn’t want to force the man but they had to get to the bottom of this.

Finally Daryl moved. He shifted his fingers and peered at Rick.

“Ya don’t think...ya didn’t think I’s ridiculous?”

Rick had thought this might’ve been the problem. If Daryl had little or no experience, maybe the force of the emotions and what it pushed out of him had come as a shock of some kind? Rick would have to be real careful with his words now…

...On the other hand, this was Daryl. He could take blunt talk.

“I thought you were hot. Seriously, Daryl, what the fuck? The things you did...the things you _said…_ I nearly came from just hearing you talk like that. There was nothing ridiculous about it.”

“No?” 

“No,” Rick said firmly, and now he tugged at Daryl’s hand with a little more force. Daryl drew a long breath and exhaled in a puff of air, lowered his hand and met Rick’s gaze.

“Look,” Rick bit his lip and again searched for words. This sort of thing so wasn’t his area of expertise, but he did have somewhat more experience in this so he had to blunder on and pray that something he said would ease Daryl’s mind. “It can be overwhelming… and as far as I know, all kinds of stuff can come out of your mouth during sex...but it’s all good, y’know. You can be quiet, or you can talk like that, or whatever… you find out what works for _you_ , y’know, and go with that. Me, I’ve never been much of a talker, it’s just not _me_ \-- but I sure don’t mind listening. Jesus, that was _hot_ , you have nothing to be ashamed of, Daryl.”

The hunter looked pensive, he chewed on his lip. “Ok. Just took me by surprise, ‘s all. Didn’t think I had that in me, y’know…”

“You good now?” Rick ran his fingers through Daryl’s hair.

“Mmhm. Sorry-”

“Don’t say sorry. You ain’t got nothing to be sorry about.”

Daryl flashed a small smile, then he stretched like a cat. 

“That sure was nice. Any chance we could do it again sometime?” The playfulness was back.

Rick flopped back on his pillow. “Oh, let me think…”

Daryl chuckled. He sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“I think I better go. No use tryin’ to sleep, I’d just have to get up in an hour anyway.”

Rick checked his watch. It was a little after five. He nodded. 

“Ok. Though I had planned on some cuddling but we’ll save that for next time.”

Daryl threw him a smile. He went to the bathroom to clean himself up, got dressed and walked back to the bed. The kiss was light and lingering, and Rick had to steel himself to not grab the man and pull him back to bed. He couldn’t wait to get the fucking Saviors off their backs -- he couldn’t wait to be with Daryl openly, around the clock. He wanted _normal_ , and he frickin’ wanted it _now_. 

Well. All the more motivation to win the eventual war.

_-Daryl-_

He wondered if he’d ever been this happy before. Had he ever been this light and warm, like he was floating? There wasn’t much poetry in him, but right now, he almost got why people wrote love songs. Worked decades to find the prettiest words to describe the feeling. 

‘Cause he knew it -- he was in love. He hadn’t said it to Rick, not yet. He’d been dumbstruck by Rick’s _I love you_ , and anyway, he didn’t want to make Rick think he’d say it only because he felt obligated to reciprocate. 

Obligation...nothing could be further from the truth. 

Daryl was alone in his cave, there was no-one there to keep pretending for, no-one to see that the down-to-earth, harsh redneck sat on the bed smiling like an idiot for hours on end. No-one to read his mind and hear the smitten thoughts, the sappy words that he’d never, ever, allowed himself to think before. 

The malicious voice in his soul was silent. Daryl accepted the fact that it could come back -- last night hadn’t been a miracle cure, no such things existed. But right now it held no power over him. 

_Rick loves me? How the fuck had that happened?_

‘This can’t be’ tried to worm into his heart but he refused to listen to it. He clung to Rick’s words, his actual _words_. He hadn’t hinted at it, Daryl hadn’t needed to read between the lines, there was no fuckin’ way he could’ve misunderstood three simple words. And Rick had never, never lied to him. 

_Rick loves me._

Every time the doubtful this-can’t-be-you-got-it-wrong tried to shake his confidence, he waved those words around like a magical amulet and conjured the bad thoughts away. And he refused to think of Negan, or the walkers; there would be plenty of time to think of them. To be a realist.

_But this is real, too. Just as real._

It was so weird, to let himself feel like this. There hadn’t been a lot of love in his life Before. Oh, Merle had loved him in his clumsy way. There had probably been people who’d liked him, maybe even some who’d been interested in him, well, _that way_. But nothing had ever come of any of it.

Until the walkers took over. In time, despite a fuckload of aloofness and suspicion, he’d come to feel love from his new family. Acceptance, friendship, all that crap. Carol’s warm friendship, and the gentle nudges and teasing winks which -- if he was honest enough with himself to admit having known -- could’ve led to something more. Except it never would, on account of him not bein’ that interested in women. However, it had been there. And the others, the whole bunch of them… granted, the certainty had been shaken by the Sanctuary, but he _remembered_ the caring, he could recall the love, from before Negan and the clearing. He loved them. They loved him. He’d known Rick had loved him -- as a friend, as a brother.

Never in a million years could he have imagined it would amount to anything else. And it had been enough. _I mean, why wouldn’t it have been? I had more love coming my way than I knew what to do with, for Christ’s sake…_

And he loved them, so goddamn much. He’d never said it; the mere idea made him snort to himself. Imagine their faces if a Dixon said ‘I love you’ out loud during a family dinner. He had no practice with uttering those words, they’d probably just come out wrong. To be fair, no-one would laugh at him. Probably. Nah, they wouldn’t. They were good people. But the thing was, he thought they knew it already. Not everything had to be put into words.

_Rick loves me._

Daryl had had the most amazing orgasm in his entire life last night and, what was even more awesome, he’d made another person come, and not just anyone -- Rick! And judging by how it had looked, Rick had enjoyed it. He’d said he had -- and Rick had never lied to him. Daryl had... _done_ things, _said_ a lot of stuff -- and he still flushed just thinking about it. But he clung to Rick’s words about that, too, so now the flush wasn’t all embarrassment, no…

He pressed the heel of his palm on his crotch. _Down, boy._

He had no idea how much time had passed when he heard the sound of voices in the corridors. He stirred -- ok, probably it’d been several hours, if the stiffness and the crick in his back were anything to go by -- and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“We brought you lunch!” Rick said, and pointed at the bag he was carrying.

“No, _I_ brought you lunch -- dad just tagged along,” said Carl in a dry voice, and handed Daryl a thermos of coffee. “Dad’s tryin’ to take all the credit. So sad, absolutely pitiful, how can you do that to your son…”

Daryl had been smiling so much the past hours that he had a hard time doing anything else. And Carl’s sass wasn’t helping any. The boy mock-glared at him. 

“Ain’t funny.”

“Oh but that’s where you’re wrong, kid. Gimme the coffee, haven’t had any since yesterday.”

It was surprisingly not-awkward, between him and Rick. Both visitors sat on the mattress with him, and it was altogether pretty fuckin’ nice to have those two there. Carl gave them the lowdown on the situation in Jonah’s family; Rick talked about the meeting they were going to have in a few days with Hilltop’s people. Luckily, they were having it at Alexandria, and Daryl’s selfish little soul rejoiced not having to be without him so soon.

A comfortable lull in the conversation wasn’t a rare occurrence, so Daryl was absolutely defenceless, wasn’t prepared at all, when Carl broke the silence.

“Dunno really how to say this but I gotta because, y’know, so it won’t become even more awkward at some point, but… oh, crap… Dad, Daryl, you should know the walls in our house aren’t as thick as you’d like to think they are.”

What. The. Fuck.

Daryl froze in horror. It just couldn’t mean what he thought it meant. Just, couldn’t. He stared at the boy. Carl met his gaze, unflinching, with a flush on his cheeks. Daryl turned his eyes on Rick. Good Lord… the look on his face…

Since neither of them got a word out, the sixteen-year-old teen went on.

“And not just awkward...dangerous, even. I mean, Jonah was there last night. What if someone else gets an overnight visitor? Michonne could hook up with someone… and visitors from Hilltop, they’re not always the ones in the know about Daryl-”

Finally Rick got his voice back.

“Carl, I don’t know what to say… I’m so-”

“You don’t have to be sorry, dad. You did nothing wrong. I’m just saying it’s lucky it wasn’t Jonah who had to go to the bathroom at four thirty in the morning… it’s lucky it was me who was awake and not him. Gotta say, I wondered what I’d tell him, in case he woke up. If he’d buy a ‘my dad’s got real bad nightmares’ cover story or something…”

“So we didn’t…”

“Nah, you didn’t wake me up.” Carl was blushing hard now. The boy talked calm like an adult -- hell, Daryl wouldn’t have mastered the kind of neutral calmness this kid had about a subject that couldn’t possibly be an easy one.

“Jesus Christ…” Rick muttered.

Carl cleared his throat. “Well, this hasn’t been my greatest moment either, dad… I’d’ve never brought it up if the danger wasn’t the issue -- never said anything before. I mean, who’d want to talk about their dad’s sex life except with a gun to his head…”

Rick’s ears were burning red. “You don’t mean you’ve heard…”

“Like I said. Walls not as thick as you’d really, _really_ wish them to be…”

Daryl still hadn’t said anything. Carl looked at him.

“You’re gonna keel over soon if you don’t start breathing again, Daryl. It ain’t no big deal, come on… Yeah, awkward as hell but it ain’t like I don’t know about the birds and the bees stuff. Or, in this case, bees an’ bees.” 

He gave a small smile. Daryl smiled back, a lopsided grin, just to show he fully appreciated the teen’s effort to ease the feelings of two middle-aged men. _Good Lord. I mean -- really. Goddamn!_

Rick sighed. “Well, this has been… frickin’ awful!” And the man chuckled, for fuck’s sake! “Sorry, ‘m sorry, shouldn’t laugh...but this is every parent’s worst nightmare, a discussion you really wouldn’t ever wanna have. And here we are, listening to my sixteen-year-old give us a speech about bees an’ bees, and volume control.”

Daryl didn’t quite know how the goddamn clusterfuck suddenly turned into a gigglefest, but what could he say -- it did. 

When they’d calmed down, Rick picked up the now empty thermos.

“We gotta go back, I’ve got a shift at the gate and Carl’s got some gardening to do.” Carl grimaced but nodded. Rick went on. “I’ll be back later, as usual. Stay safe.”

And he pressed a quick kiss on Daryl’s lips.

Carl had averted his eyes -- not out of any disapproval or exaggerated modesty, no, Daryl didn’t get the feel it was about that. It was more of a thoughtful gesture, giving the two of them privacy for the few short seconds that little kiss took. Rick had said the boy had grown up to a pretty spectacularly awesome kid, and Daryl completely and thoroughly agreed. Most adults couldn’t have handled the whole godawful situation better.

“I hope you already got it but just to make sure… you got my blessing.” Carl grinned, managing somehow, all at the same time, to look matured-by-apocalypse-and-wise-beyond-his-years, and totally his age.


	7. Variety is the spice of everything

_-Daryl-_

Days flowed by. Each day, Daryl tried to sneak in a few hours outside, but he couldn’t leave the trench, not yet. It was too dangerous. He asked for materials and his family provided, so he spent his days making new bolts, practising with his knives, reading a fuckton of books. He jogged up and down the cavelike corridors of the sewers; it was a risk, the floor was uneven and slippery here and there, but the alternative was to sit on his ass on the fuckin’ mattress all day long and go stark raving crazy, so it was an easy choice. 

Every three or four days he slipped in the house with Rick. They sat for hours with Carl and Tara, sometimes Rosita and Sasha as well if they weren’t at Hilltop. Michonne joined them a few times, for a few minutes. Rick tensed up, and neither one of them was at ease with the other, but all in all, Daryl thought it was better than it had been at Hilltop. At least Michonne was trying. Daryl didn’t feel like meeting her half-way, though. He figured he had nothing to apologize for, and the best way to deal with the situation was to try to act normal. Whatever the hell that meant in this post-clearing reality. 

This thing with Rick… they’d settled in the new, upgraded version of their relationship like they’d been born to it. There was nothing easier than to kiss him, or take Rick in his arms at night, or explore his body, or let him do the same with his. Daryl had never been a day-dreamer -- life hadn’t exactly given him much to dream about -- but these days he zoned out for minutes at a time during the lonely hours of the day, the words of a novel blurring in his eyes or a new bolt resting on his lap, half finished, before he could snap himself out of it. What the hell, he thought, the Dixon in him shaking his head. And then he thought: things change. This wasn’t a bad change.

They managed to keep it on the down-low for the following house-night; Tara frowned a few times but didn’t ask. Carl said nothing, and later the boy told him it wasn’t his place to gossip about his dad and his dad’s boyfriend (he’d _smirked_ , the cheeky brat). He asked if they were going to keep it a secret, and Daryl made a face. Like a reflex. It took him a moment to understand where that had come from. Carl was in his cave, once again bringing food and fresh batteries, and he watched Daryl, waiting for an explanation for the grimace.

“Don’t wanna keep it a secret,” Daryl said, the words coming out slow. “Secrets...can break stuff. Dunno if you’re too young to remember the quarry an’ the farm...we had too many secrets there, an’-”

“Yeah. Ain’t too young to remember, Daryl. So...not that it’s any of my business but… what’re you waiting for then?”

Daryl chewed on his lip. “Does there hafta be a declaration? Is that how people do it? Don’t recall Glenn an’ Maggie doin’ anything like that. Or your dad an’ Michonne. Tara an’ Denise. They just... _were_ together, an’ that’s it. So I’m guessin’ this’ll just come out,” (the goddamn brat _sniggered_ ), “yeah ha-ha Carl, ya know what I mean…”

The boy surprised him with a hug. “I love you, Daryl, you know that, right?”

These people… they were so fuckin’ good with words. They just _said_ these sorta things, like it was no biggie. Like it wasn’t _huge_. 

An’ didn’t that make him just a bit lame that he couldn’t get the words out. Just a bit deficient somehow?

This probably wasn’t the sorta discussion people usually had with sixteen-goin’-on-seventeens but Carl maybe wouldn’t laugh at him so…

“Ain’t good with that stuff,” he blurted out. “Your mom an’ dad… they kept tellin’ ya they love ya, I heard them do that. I hear that all the time, these past years, people tellin’ each other that. I ain’t…” His voice dwindled down.

Carl hugged him a second time. “We know you love us. Not everything needs to be said. Showing it works too, an’ you’re real good with that. I’m not saying it’s not great to hear it, too, and saying it is nice as well… but you’ve got the most important part of it down pat. The rest...it’ll come.”

How was the kid this wise? _I guess apocalypse can do that to ya. Either you get wise ‘cause you gotta learn stuff real quick, the hard way, an’ process it an’ make something good out of it -- or it breaks ya down, an’ ya become...what? Negan, maybe? An’ not even bad like that, just… breaks ya._

When the sitting-down-an’-chatting part of the next house-night was coming to an end, Tara waited until Rosita and Carl had left. Arms crossed, she eyed the two of them for a while, eyes flicking back and forth, waiting. Rick gave her a half-smile and wrapped his hand around Daryl’s shoulder. She nodded, obviously extremely satisfied with herself.

“This a new development?”

“Fairly new, yes,” Rick answered.

“Who knows?”

“So far, just Carl.”

“Is this supposed to be a secret?” Tara was very careful but she was Daryl’s friend -- he noted the tiny ripple of disappointment in her tone.

Apparently, so did Rick.

“A secret? Not as such. Only to the extent that Daryl’s presence in Alexandria is a secret. Meaning we’d appreciate it if nobody gossiped about this to people who don’t even know he’s here. Other than that… no. Why should it be a secret?” Rick’s tone was cold. It seemed he hadn’t much liked that Tara had, even for a moment, entertainted the suspicion that they’d want to keep this as some kind of a dirty little gay-secret. 

Tara blushed.

“I didn’t mean-”

“What, you didn’t mean to imply I or Daryl wouldn’t want to advertise our gay love affair?” 

“Rick,” Daryl intervened. “Let it go. Maybe she meant it, maybe she didn’t. I don’t care. ‘cause I know for a fact she’s happy for us. Ain’t I right?” His eyes drilled into Tara’s. Well, he was 99 % sure but that was close enough…

Tara nodded several times, her head bobbing like a buoy.

“I’m really sorry, Rick, I just blurted it out, I guess I’m too sensitive an’, dunno, paranoid or something…” 

Rick chewed on that for a few seconds, then he obviously realized he’d been an ass. That was one of the many things Daryl loved about him: the leader of Alexandria was fully capable of recognizing when he’d made a mistake.

“Well, I guess you’re not the only overly sensitive around here… I shouldn’t have snapped like that, it was uncalled for, an’ I’m sorry.” He drew breath. “Let’s start over, ok? Yeah, we’re together, an’ I’m really glad you’re happy for us. For now, only those who know about Daryl being here, can know about us -- one of the many reasons Negan’s gotta go…”

“But ya don’t need to go gabbin’ about this to Rosita or Maggie or the others… don’t exactly wanna be a topic for gossip…” Daryl grumbled.

“Me? Gossip? Don’t know whatcha talkin’ about…” she said, rolled her eyes, and skipped out the door -- no doubt hurrying straight to Rosita. If Daryl knew those two at all, there had been a wager going on. He loved Tara, but the lady sure loved to gossip. Oh, she could keep an important, life-and-death kinda secret just fine, but something like this...nah, Daryl seriously doubted it.

*****

They kept him abreast of the war preparations, although Rick was careful to ration out the information in small doses. It made Daryl grind his teeth in helpless fury, but there was nothing to be done. During the first twenty days or so in Alexandria, “Negan talk” had crashed him four times into a helpless mess of shivers and nightmares. The Sanctuary still had its claws on him, and the recovery was excruciatingly slow.

Both communities had people whose supply runs had a double mission: first, to find stuff for the community and to give over to the Saviors, and second, to find weapons, ammo, anything to use in the coming war. Some they delivered to the Saviors, just to keep up the pretence, but most of it was carefully hidden. A handful of people knew the whereabouts of those stashes.

Weapons weren’t the only thing they were on the look-out for, Rick told Daryl one evening at the beginning of his fourth week in Alexandria. They were sitting in Daryl’s cave; Rick had just returned from a two-day supply run. He looked tired but just as unwilling to go to sleep as Daryl. 

The hunter had missed Rick, more than he’d thought he would. Apparently, he’d gotten used to having Rick by his side during the nights. A measly three weeks of it, and he’d already got hooked on Rick’s body against his. Less than two weeks of _more…_ During the Rick-less days, he’d thought he’d gotten a fuckin’ flu or something, he’d been restless and bad-tempered and he’d scowled and snapped at Tara who’d come to spend time with him. She’d lifted amused eyebrows at him, and hadn’t commented a word. Damn, she was an awesome friend.

He swallowed the rest of his pride and burrowed in Rick’s side. The leader pressed his lips on Daryl’s temple.

“I missed you,” Rick murmured, and went on with his story. Daryl heard the fatigue and the remorse in his voice.

“We were so goddamn cocksure back when we took down that outpost. It’s like we were high on something. All of us loaded with invincibility. I mean… Abe was a sergeant an’ I was a cop for God’s sake...we should’ve known better than that! We just stormed the place, and the ball we got rolling almost crushed us.”

Daryl listened, didn’t say a word. He’d had plenty of time to think in the Sanctuary cell. Ponder on the fact that long-term plans had never been their forte. _Back-up plans -- nah, who needs those things. Patient recons, diligent research -- that’s for pussies._ Everything that ever went to hell, ever since the farm, had happened because of that. Well, at least in part. But could they have stopped for a few fuckin’ seconds every now and then to ask, ‘Hey, is there something that could go wrong?’ ‘Do we have a plan B?’ ‘Hey, if the prison gets stormed by walkers or hostiles and we get scattered, d’you think we could maybe agree on a meeting spot?’ 

For once, could they have asked themselves, ‘Hey, what’s the fuckin’ worst case scenario here?’

He blamed himself most of all. Rick could blab about bein’ a cop all he liked, but Daryl’d been preparing for an all-out war pretty much since he was born. Growing up the way he did, _trust_ and _best case scenarios_ were never much of a thing in his life, y’know. He should’ve been more wary, more vigilant. That thing with Dwight and Sherry, he never should’ve let it happen. If he’d been more on his guard, he could’ve handled it differently, and maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t be in this situation right now. Those two might’ve come to Alexandria with him, and Dwight could’ve told them all about Negan and the Saviors and the outposts.

So yeah, he knew all about remorse. 

Rick kept on talking. 

“Guns are good, but we need information even more than weapons. Locations, manpower, how they communicate an’ how often… We only got one shot at this, we gotta do it right this time. Rosita and Aaron, those two, they do most of the recon. Jesus, too.”

“How’s that goin’?” 

“Three outposts so far, plus the one we took down, they’ve manned it again so that makes four, kind of circling the Sanctuary. One of them’s the bullet factory where we think they’re keeping Eugene. We don’t have confirmation on that, we’ve got no visual on him. It would help if we knew for sure how many outposts there are but it can’t be more than four, right? We’ve talked about interrogating one of Negan’s men but they always move in teams of six or more. A group of that size goes missing, it’s gonna attract attention an’ we can’t afford that. Surprise is pretty much the only trick we have…”

Something niggled at the back of Daryl’s mind. Something he should ask. Something he hadn’t heard them talk about yet…

It’d come to him. He was drowsy now, comforted by Rick’s scent and the feel of his body. 

“Sleep now?” He nudged at the other man. “Worry later?”

“Yeah, ok.” Rick rubbed his eyes. 

Daryl was on that sloping threshold of sleep where reality started to mix with the misty shapes of dreams when the niggling _it_ jolted him wide awake. He blinked and looked at the relaxed man by his side. Rick’s eyes were closed but he wasn’t yet asleep -- Daryl knew his breathing patterns by now -- so he could’ve asked him. 

The hunter had a feeling it might be a sticky subject, though. _Now’s not the time. Rick needs his sleep. We both do._

He couldn’t resist the temptation to kiss him, however. Nowadays, when they were like this, he had all the self-restraint of a starving man at a buffet. It was like he was trying to make up for lost time. And who the fuck knew how long they had left?

Rick didn’t open his eyes; he let out a drowsy _mmmm,_ parted his lips, and met Daryl’s questing tongue. 

Daryl hadn’t intended this to go any further, not really, but his body wanted to make up for lost time, too, and if Rick’s adventurous hands were anything to go by, he was as touch-starved for Daryl as the hunter was for him.

_Sleep is good. But goddamn it, this is better._

*****

They overslept in the morning and Rick had to leave in a hurry, so Daryl didn’t have the chance to talk with him. Maybe it wasn’t a subject for the early hours, they were on the clock every morning anyways. He’d wait until the evening -- it was a ‘house night’ so they could talk in the comfort of home. It’d be better that way.

_-Rick-_

He hated hurried mornings. He hated that he couldn’t start the morning with a few lazy minutes caressing the man he loved. Just kissing, holding each other, talking about nothing in particular. Oh, there were plenty of issues to tackle -- war plans, for example, or the trauma of the apocalypse, not to mention the fucking purgatory they’d inhabited for the last months. But mornings weren’t for that. Mornings were for building, for bolstering the thing they had. Mornings were for tender touches and entertaining stories and nostalgia and banter.

He hated that they missed that this morning. And the day didn’t improve, it was one thing after another. 

Rosita came back from a run -- no guns, no ammo, and that had been the third time in a row. 

Aaron returned from Hilltop -- Gregory was being even more of an ass than usual, bickering with Maggie and Jesus at every turn; the Kingdom still wasn’t going to join them in the uprising; and there had not been a single word about Carol. Aaron’s face was grim when he said they’d better start preparing themselves for accepting the fact that Carol might be dead.

One supply run team was two days late, and that never bode well.

And to top it all off, the Saviors granted them a surprise visit at noon, like they did from time to time. “Just checkin’ there aren’t any errant archers around,” Simon smirked as he brushed by Rick to check his house for the umpteenth time. 

The only good thing was it probably meant they were in for a pretty safe ‘house night’. 

He really needed to relax with Daryl, he couldn’t wait for the evening -- maybe eating together with the others, then an unhurried shower together, then...stuff. He’d planned to go fetch him the minute it turned dark enough, but Aaron with a few Alexandrians stopped him on the street and kept talking and talking, and he really tried to be patient -- he could hardly tell them that he needed his lover _right the fuck now_. Finally Aaron seemed to notice something.

“We’d better let Rick go about his business. I’m sure he has things to take care of,” he said to the others.

“Well, not really,” Rick smiled politely, lying through his teeth and sending waves of silent thank-yous to Aaron for giving him an opening. “Still just a bit tired from the supply run. ‘m thinking of turning in early.”

Aaron’s eyes were sharp as he looked at Rick but he said nothing as they left the leader at his porch stairs. Rick looked at them leave with a smile plastered on his face, and when he was certain they weren’t coming back, he slunk through the house, out by the back door, and was in the sewers within minutes.

He felt better the moment he set eyes on Daryl. He was smitten as a frickin’ schoolgirl but it was all good. 

“You ready?”

The hunter nodded and grabbed a bag. He looked thoughtful; Rick wondered if he had something on his mind. He knew Daryl hadn’t had nightmares during those two nights he’d been gone, mostly because Tara had camped in the sewers with him. That woman was something else, really. A true friend who had compassion to spare even though Rick knew for a fact she was still hurting because of Denise.

But it wasn’t like there was a shortage of stuff to think about these days. Daryl had told him -- grudgingly -- that he tried not to think about the Savior business too much at a time, and Rick knew that the man battled against a sense of weakness because of this. Daryl had a hard time getting back his zen and accepting that the Sanctuary had given him deep wounds, and that it would take time for them to heal, and that it wouldn’t help to pick at them constantly. That he would have to ease himself into it, dose the Savior thoughts in small portions. At least as long as they had the luxury for that. The war was closing in; every day added to the risk of Negan finding out what they were plotting, so they couldn’t just keep preparing and preparing.

“Nobody’s home right now. Michonne’s on a perimeter check, an’ Tara, Sasha and Rosita are having a girls’ night out with Judith,” that got a small smile out of Daryl, “and Carl is hanging out with friends. He misses Enid. He’s counting days -- just today I heard him say to Tara that he thinks it’s only five more days until Enid’s due to return from Hilltop. I wonder…” Rick groaned, “I wonder if I gotta talk to him soon. Y’know, like, _talk_.”

Daryl flashed a quick grin, the serious look on his face momentarily gone. “I don’t think you need to. I think the boy knows enough -- the birds an’ the bees, remember? But it’s a dad thing, ain’t it? So maybe you _gotta_ even if you don’t exactly _need_ to.”

“Jesus…” Rick muttered, half horrified, half amused. Apocalypse or no apocalypse, some things didn’t change.

Daryl went upstairs, and Rick followed him soon after with some food and water. 

“So, what’s on your mind?” he asked, when they’d sat down on the floor. “You look like you’ve been thinking.”

“Sure, that’s such a rare occurrence,” Daryl quipped, but it sounded half-hearted somehow. He chewed on the bread and the fish and the cucumbers for a while. “How was your day?” 

The hunter was stalling, and a worry twinged in Rick’s belly. But nothing had happened, right? -- so what could be wrong? Except for the obvious, of course: walkers, Negan, the collapse of modern society.

“Simon and his cohorts paid us a visit today. That’s always uplifting. Other than that, nothing special. Been in a bad mood the whole day. Don’t let’s never oversleep again, ok? I need me my daily fix of unhurried morning smooches.” Rick gave Daryl a friendly nudge, bumping shoulders.

“But seriously, Daryl,” Rick opted for the direct approach, “you got something you wanna talk about?”

A half-nod. “Been thinkin’ about what we gonna do with the Saviors. I don’t get to listen in to your meetings so maybe you’ve talked about this an’ you’ve just forgotten to fill me in, but Rick, whatcha gonna do after?”

Rick frowned. “What do you mean by after?”

“After we’ve won. After Negan’s dead. What’re we gonna do with the rest of them? Simon, Dwight, the other henchmen. The fighters. An’ the regular folk. What, we’re just gonna line them up with blindfolds on, an’ execute them?”

Rick looked at him, a piece of cucumber half-eaten and forgotten in his hand.

“Y’know, Carl asked the same thing a few days ago, before I left on the run. He’s been listening to the meetings so, unlike you, he _knows_ we haven’t discussed this.” Rick put the vegetable back on his plate. 

“What did ya tell him?”

“Nothing. I had no answer to give. Ever since that moment it’s been on my mind, but then there was the run, an’ then I didn’t want to spend the whole frickin’ night thinking about this when I had just got back to you, an’ then today was a fuckin’ disaster...an’ I think that’s the problem. Has been the whole while.”

“What?” 

“There’s never time to think about the after. I dunno if it’s because were not so sure there _is_ an after for us, which is fuckin’ sad if that’s the case -- I mean, we can’t have that kind of a defeatist attitude, this fight’ll be hard enough as it is…”

“Or maybe you’re just gonna kill them all. Wipe the slate real clean.” Daryl’s voice was suspiciously neutral. Rick’s gut reaction was to hasten to say ‘oooh no, of course not, we’re not monsters!’, but he wasn’t so sure it would’ve been the truth.

“That...might be the other reason we’ve not talked about it,” he admitted. “‘cause nobody thinks it’s important ‘cause the solution is...implied. The few that might think there is something to discuss, keep quiet because… Y’know, these past months… you weren’t here, an’ God how I wish you’d been here but the truth is… you had your hell, we had ours. I’m certain you had it worse, you were alone an’ all-”

“‘s not a contest.” Daryl’s voice was so soft Rick could barely hear him. The hunter stared at his hands, and only looked up when Rick took his hand.

“Yeah… anyway, there’s a lot of hatred and bitterness and anger simmering, and frankly, I don’t know what to do with that. Every time I think of us winning, I see a world with not a single Savior left in it, an’ it feels _good_. An’ I don’t even care if they’re fighters or regulars. An’ I _should_ , I know that. We kill them all, we’re just as bad as they are.” Rick snorted. “In a way, we’d be even worse. ‘People are a resource’ -- that’s the one and only thing I can sort of agree on with Negan. There’s so fuckin’ few of us left, we can’t just start killing off each other in bulk!”

Rick waited for Daryl’s comment but none was forthcoming. 

“So, what do you think? You’re the only one of us who’s actually spent time with those people.” 

Daryl nibbled on his lower lip.

“Dunno, to be honest. There’s loads of regular folk in the Sanctuary. People whose homes have been run over, an’ they’re just livin’ there, working for the Saviors… cookin’ an’ cleanin’ an’ mendin’ clothes an’ doin’ car maintenance. Negan’s bossin’ them around just like he’s bossin’ us. I don’t know how I’d feel about lettin’ those people live in Alexandria or anythin’ but I ain’t got a good feelin’ just gunnin’ them down, either, y’know. An’ then there’s Negan’s wives,” Daryl noticed Rick’s raised eyebrows and snorted, “yeah, plural. ‘m thinkin’ it was one of them, a lady who used to be Dwight’s girlfriend or whatever, who helped me get out. ‘m thinkin’ most of them ain’t doin’ what they’re doin’ exactly from their own free will, y’know… ‘m not sayin’ he’s exactly rapin’ them -- just that he might not be their first choice for a husband, if ya know what I mean… they’ve probably got it cozier than most but at what cost, y’know… They ain’t the ones twistin’ our arms either so, what, should we just put them down like cockroaches?”

Rick gave him a long, thoughtful look. Then he shook his head and a corner of his mouth twitched in a small smile.

“You’re a much better man than I am. After what you’ve been through, here you are talking about mercy for the people in the Sanctuary.”

“Nah, ain’t a better man. If ya saw the kinds of things I’m fantasizing, stuff that I want to do to Negan an’ Dwight an’ loads of others, ya wouldn’t be saying that. ‘s just...I’m kinda hopin’ we’d be better than them. ‘m thinkin, there’s already enough of Governors an’ Claimers in this world. It don’t need us to be those people as well. I mean, we didn’t butcher regular Woodburyans either.”

“So… I should take this up at the next meeting?”

“I think ya should.”

Rick flashed a lopsided smile. “We’re talking like we’re gonna win.”

“Yeah we are. Either that, or a blaze of glory.” Daryl actually grinned, and Rick laughed the first real laugh in days.

“You know I love you, right? Dunno what I’d do without you.” He watched a flush appear on Daryl’s cheeks. “Seems you keep me on the right track. No wonder I was such a mess when Negan took you. That was pretty much the first time I had to make do without you. For a longer period I mean. An’ that time when you took off with Merle, or the time right after the prison fell… weren’t my greatest hits either. I told you Michonne wanted to get you out, she kept nagging me about it for weeks.”

Daryl glanced at him. “Always wondered about that. Why would she, if she hated me so much?”

“It was before I broke up with her… and even after that -- even when she was spitting mad at me and not a big fan of yours either, she wanted to get you out. On principle alone I guess, and also… you never stopped being family. Michonne never lost the fight in her, like I did.” Rick leaned closer and kissed Daryl lightly on the lips. “See, I don’t function too well when you’re not around.”

“Shut up,” the hunter mumbled in Rick’s mouth, and deepened the kiss.

“Y’know, we got maybe an hour before Carl an’ Michonne get back,” Rick whispered as he skimmed Daryl’s throat with his mouth.

“Mmhm… Wanna save the food for later?”

Rick had sat crosslegged the whole time; he kept forgetting his legs kinda hated it, they got numb real quick, so he struggled to get on his feet and stumbled as he pulled Daryl up. 

“Smooth,” the hunter smirked.

“Kinda don’t wanna be smooth tonight.” The words were out before Rick knew to stop them. The day had been annoying and frustrating, full of disappointment and polite restraint this way an’ that, and Rick wanted to let go, oh God how he wanted to let go… It was just, he wasn’t sure… So far, they’d been gentle -- bold, but gentle -- and Rick wasn’t sure if, after Sanctuary, Daryl was ready for anything rough. Hell, Rick realized, he wasn’t really sure if Daryl liked rough. Lori hadn’t. Michonne came out all no-nonsense and tough, but she’d been surprisingly romantic in bed. And that was the extent of Rick’s experience. 

In fact, it surprised him he was even thinking about this; the _craving_ in his body was all new to him. 

“I don’t need ya to be smooth. Come on, Grimes, show me what ya got,” Daryl purred in his ear, and the shiver it triggered in Rick loosened the knot in his mind, and he pushed the other man down on the bed. There was a strange buzz in his head. He yanked the shirt from under his waistband and started to unbutton it. 

“Take your clothes off,” he told Daryl, not exactly ordering -- but not exactly just asking either.

The hunter’s face was flushed and his eyes darkened. He squirmed out of his long-sleeved flannel and tugged off the t-shirt. Rick stared at the man as Daryl’s deft fingers opened the pants and revealed dark body hair and a half-hard cock. Rick’s own hands had stopped at the belt, the buzz in his head was loud -- _goddamn the man is...he is..._ Rick’s mind overflowed with words and he latched onto one: Daryl was _everything_.

He’d write a frickin’ poem about the archer. Just...not now. He had other plans.

Daryl lay there, his lower lip between his teeth, pants open, stroking his cock, waiting for whatever Rick would do. His eyes were sharp, like he was prepared for anything, and yet… and yet there was not an ounce of worry there, and that was it for Rick, the last drop of hesitation vaporized. He licked his lips, and leaned down to take off Daryl’s boots and pull off his jeans and socks.

“You got something against underwear?” His voice was husky. Daryl let out a small moan and continued with the strokes.

“They just get in the way.” He lifted one foot on the edge of the bed. Jesus, the sight… Rick felt dizzy and finally got his own pants open and pushed them down together with the underwear. He crouched to untied his boots and got another eyeful at the same time. Goddamn tease…

Daryl’s cock was leaking, Rick heard the slick sound of his hand on his cock. 

“I gotta do all the work, hunh?” The hunter’s low rumble danced on Rick’s nerve endings. He stepped closer to the bed, between Daryl’s legs.

“For now,” he rasped and gripped his own cock, it was straining like it wanted to get close to the other man right the fuck now. 

Daryl’s gaze traveled down and watched Rick’s hand lightly stroke the shaft. His mouth curved into a smile. He lowered his leg and sat up, unwrapped Rick’s fingers one at a time, lapped the precum like he was drinking it, and closed his lips around the tip. He put his hands on Rick’s hips and pulled him closer.

“Christ...” Rick whispered, his voice coming out broken. He grabbed Daryl’s long locks and watched his cock disappear into the hot mouth, and moaned at the glorious suction. Daryl’s grip was intense, his fingers raked on his hips, on his ass, and Rick fucked his mouth until he was just a tiny step from the edge.

“Stop, Daryl…” His hips shuddered to a halt; he panted so hard it was a wonder Daryl got the words at all. The hunter kissed and licked the leaking head a few times and looked up, his hand still stroking the hard shaft almost absent-mindedly, like he couldn’t fathom a situation where he’d have to take his hand off Rick. 

The leader swallowed hard. If he ever wrote that poem, it would be a godawful mixture of sappy love babble together with odes about the hunter’s stormy blue eyes and strong fingers, and lips puffy and glistening from sucking Rick’s cock.

The thoughts flitted through his mind like a swarm of butterflies, and his fingers curled into a fist in Daryl’s hair. A tiny moan escaped the hunter’s mouth as he moved his head in an effort to ease the pain. Rick exhaled, tried to calm himself down, opened his mouth to force out an apology, but the look Daryl gave him… 

Daryl bit on his bottom lip, his tongue flicked out to run over his lips.

“Ya want something.” It wasn’t a question.

Rick’s other hand landed on Daryl’s wrist and stopped the stroking. He really didn’t wanna come just yet. Daryl pulled his hand away and sat on the edge of the bed, hands on his thighs, looking up at Rick, waiting. Rick ran his gaze over the other man, took in the gorgeous man, and his eyes paused on the iron hard dick pointing up, angry red and dripping.

So far at least, Daryl didn’t seem to mind Rick’s unusual aggression. The weird buzz penetrated his whole body now, and he’d need to think about it later; this wasn’t _Rick_ , this wasn’t how he saw himself…

Later.

Rick’s voice was so rough it was more of a growl than a human sound.

“Wanna fuck you.”

Daryl’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Whatcha waitin’ for then?”

Rick’s heart beat so fast he was sure Daryl could hear it. His skin prickled with anticipation. Daryl’s words were a challenge, and a corner of Rick’s mouth curved into a smile. 

He knew it wasn’t a gentle smile. _God, what’s wrong with me…_

“Lie down.”

“Make me.”

In a flash, Rick’s hands were on Daryl’s shoulders and he pushed the man down. The hunter put up a fight and his nails scratched white lines on Rick’s chest and clawed over his nipples. Sparks of pleasure went straight to his already hard-as-a-rock dick, and he grunted.

“Fuck!”

“So ya keep sayin’ but nothin’s happenin’.” 

Jesus, Daryl was _taunting_ him.

Like he knew this was what Rick needed now.

That’d be another verse for the poem. The man was frickin’ _perfect_! 

Daryl’s face was flushed; Rick stood between his legs, leaning forward, holding him down. Slowly, Daryl lifted his feet on the bed. Rick glided his hands down, raked with his fingertips, and the shudders that ran over Daryl’s body soothed the buzz in Rick’s head. His hands stopped when they’d reached Daryl’s knees. 

“Don’t move.” That was his deputy voice. He walked to the bedside table and took a tube of lube out of the drawer. He heard a soft huff of a laugh, and walked back to a smirking Daryl. 

“You’re a regular boy scout. Always prepared. Ya been plannin’ this for a while then?” Still the taunting tone. Rick smirked back but his reply was in his normal tone.

“Nah, just figured we’d maybe need this stuff at some point. Found a small stash of these during the last run and...well, I’m glad I did.” 

He dropped the tube on the bed, got down on his haunches, put his hands on the backs of Daryl’s thighs, and looked. The sight made his mouth water. Daryl’s long, hard cock twitched like it was reacting to Rick’s gaze, and he sensed how his own asshole convulsed almost painfully. _One of these days, yes...but not today._ His eyes drifted downwards, over the tight sac with the soft, downy hair, and Rick couldn’t help but touch it. His fingers ran over Daryl’s balls; he cradled them, rolled them in his palm, and Daryl’s hips jerked and trembled.

“Come on, man, quit teasin’,” the hunter said in a shaky voice. Under all the bluster, Daryl was _nervous_ , Rick heard it, and no matter how much frustration and aggression and restlessness Rick sensed rippling under his own skin, searching for an out, there was no way, no way in hell, he’d hurt the man.

Well, at least not much.

Not in a way that wouldn’t be good for them both.

He put his hand back on Daryl’s thigh.

“Oh, I’m not done yet.” He curled his fingers, grazed them down, felt the tremors of Daryl’s muscles. His hands were on the hunter’s asscheeks now, his thumbs lightly caressing the skin on the edge of the crack. And then he pushed, made the cheeks part, and again he looked.

Seconds ticked away. Daryl squirmed, and Rick vaguely wondered if it was out of lust or embarrassment. He licked his lips, leaned just a bit closer, and blew on the tight pucker. The small stream of warm air triggered a yelp from the hunter, and Rick was mesmerized by the tiny hole tightening and fluttering.

“Jesus.... whatcha doin’ down there?” the hunter gasped.

Rick didn’t answer; he reached for the tube, clicked it open and squeezed a fair dollop of the oily substance on his fingers. He pushed Daryl’s legs farther from each other, and brushed a slick finger over the pucker. The crinkled skin glistened, the muscles trembled, and Rick wondered if it was possible to faint from lust. For a split second, he wanted to throw all restraint away, forget everything good and gentle, and just ram his cock in there and fuck that hole until he couldn’t think anymore.

But one glance up reined him in, back to semi-civilized; Daryl had propped himself on his elbows and watched him. There was heat in that gaze, and the man was nervous, and the eyes said ‘fuck me already!’, and they also said things Daryl hadn’t said out loud yet, but the one thing there was most of all was trust, and hell would freeze over before Rick would damage that trust. 

“Admiring the view,” he finally replied, and pushed his finger in, slow but relentless, and the first ring of muscles gave way. He was slow but he did not pause, and he sensed how the other man fought to relax his muscles. Rick stared at the vision, Daryl’s hole sucking in his slick finger until it was all the way in, and he pulled it back just as slow, and in again, and on, and on. He gave it a minute -- then he added a second finger, the same way, no waiting, no slowing down. Yeah, they’d done this part a few times already, but he’d never _looked_ , and Jesus Christ he could just _eat it up_.

The thought set off a barely-there sound of alarm bells in his head; the thought should probably have made his stomach roll. But it didn’t.

Rick stored the idea in his mind, to be tried out -- later. Right now he was too busy stuffing a third finger into the scorching heat of Daryl’s ass. The hunter’s thighs trembled and the sounds he was making… the man _whimpered_ , oh God Almighty, and Rick was damn sure it wasn’t from pain.

He rose up a bit, crawled on the bed over Daryl’s bent leg, grazed his teeth over Daryl’s nipple on the way up, and the whole time his fingers went on, and on, and then he curled his finger and chuckled at the keening whine that emitted from his lover’s throat. Daryl’s whole body arched with pleasure, and Rick kept hitting the prostate again and again.

“Come on,” Daryl panted, “come on.” Then, just to remind Rick (as if he needed the reminder!) that he was a goddamn Dixon -- stubborn and unyielding -- he added, “That all ya got, ol’ man. Where’s this fuckin’ I keep hearin’ about?”

Rick shut that cheeky mouth up with a kiss and bit him not-so-lightly on the bottom lip. He pulled the fingers out, slow enough so that he wouldn’t hurt Daryl. 

“Scoot up,” he said, and Daryl moved backwards on the bed. Rick shifted until he was kneeling between Daryl’s legs and squeezed some more lube and slicked himself. He watched Daryl’s chest rise and fall fast, the man kept his gaze on Rick. He gripped the backs of Daryl’s thighs and pushed them up and aside.

“Keep them up,” he commanded. He pushed the legs even higher to get Daryl’s ass up. The hole glistened and fluttered and it still looked much too small but Rick was fast approaching the point of not giving a fuck. He ran his fingers over the edge of the hole and plunged three of them in a few times just to tease the hunter a bit more.

“Fuck you, man,” Daryl panted through clenched teeth. 

“Nah, pretty sure I’m gonna fuck _you_ ,” and the sound was a goddamn purr.

“Get that dick in me _now_ or we’re callin’ this off.”

“Bold words.” Rick pulled the fingers out and lined his cock up with Daryl’s fluttering hole and _pushed_ , again with the same unrelenting pressure. The tight furnace of the channel surrounding his sensitive dick was _so good_ he closed his eyes, shut out everything else, felt himself sink deeper and deeper until he could get no farther. The sound of ragged breathing finally cut through the haze of pleasure. He opened his eyes and saw Daryl, a mass of trembling muscle, eyes closed, open-mouthed, panting. Rick pulled back just as slow, watched the man like a hawk, searching for any sign that there was too much pain.

Daryl opened his eyes, locked their gazes. “Move.”

Rick quirked an eyebrow and thrusted hard. Apparently he hit Daryl’s prostate; the loud moan definitely wasn’t from pain.

“You giving me orders now?” said Rick, and where that purr kept coming from, he couldn’t’ve said.

“Got what I wanted, didn’t I?” The hunter managed a smirk. It transformed into another moan as Rick set up a brutal pace. For a moment, Rick watched his dick plunge in and out of the slick, tight ass, but it was _too frickin’ much_ , he wanted to enjoy this for just a bit longer. He leaned closer, hovered over Daryl’s face, and briefly thought _Everything’s ‘too much’ with him_ as he drowned in Daryl’s eyes and tried desperately to not come just yet. 

His dick must’ve hit Daryl’s prostate real good; the man gasped and gripped Rick’s butt, blunt fingernails sinking into the skin.

“Good?” breathed Rick straight into Daryl’s open mouth.

“Fuck yes..! Harder, Rick… there, yes!”

Rick wanted to kiss him, wanted to plunge his tongue into that sinful mouth, and kiss him through the orgasms he felt fast approaching them both -- he wanted to watch the man shatter into million pieces, wanted to see every single trace of restraint and worry vanish from his face, wanted to fuck his nightmares away, wanted to watch them disappear.

Christ how much he loved this man.

Daryl’s hand wormed between their bodies. “Gotta touch-” he rasped.

He didn’t get any further; Rick slapped his hand away, lifted himself a few inches and wrapped his fingers around Daryl’s hard shaft. His hand flew over the cock, slippery with precum; his self-control was coming to an end, the pressure was building up, and he groaned, a low steady sound from deep within him. 

“Oh, oh, _oh_.” Daryl threw his head back on the pillow with a thump, his throat strained, his body convulsed, his cock warmed to burning hot, and a burst of cum flowed over Rick’s belly.

He could barely see straight anymore. Daryl’s channel clenched down hard on his cock, there was no holding back anymore, he gave one last savage thrust and came so hard he cried out. His muscles shuddered so violently he had to use both his arms to keep himself propped over Daryl; he didn’t want to just crash into him. He pressed his forehead against Daryl’s and listened to their breathing, waited for his racing heart to calm down.

Slow and careful, he pulled himself out of Daryl, and clambered over his leg to his side and wriggled his arm under Daryl’s head. Only then did he notice that the buzzing was gone. There was a blissful silence in his head. The frustration and aggression weren’t crawling under his skin like maggots anymore.

“Ya ok?” asked Daryl. His voice was so soft Rick barely heard it.

“Couldn’t be better. You?” Rick kissed him on the temple.

“Officially gay,” said Daryl with a dry tone. “Loved a cock up my ass. Can’t get any gayer than that.”

Rick let out a small chuckle. “So this was just an experiment. I get it. Very scientific.”

“Man of science, that’s me.” Daryl was silent for a moment. “You feel better now?”

Rick swallowed. “Yeah...about that… I’m sorry. It was… I don’t even know… shouldn’t’ve taken it out on you. Did I hurt you?”

Daryl turned his head to look at Rick. “Nah man, ya didn’t hurt me. An’ anyway, a little pain ain’t always bad an’ ya know it. I just noticed ya had something on your mind, ya kinda needed to work it out of ya.”

“But I shouldn’t have-”

“Hey, I was glad to help. Ain’t like I didn’t enjoy it. Just think, we coulda been fuckin’ since the prison if we hadn’t been goddamn idiots…”

Rick tried to apologize a second time, he felt he needed to explain himself. Not only to Daryl but to himself. The hunter was having none of that. 

“Shut up, Grimes,” he said and drew him in a slow, deep kiss. After they stopped, Daryl seemed to be determined to keep the conversation light. And any case, he said, they hadn’t that much time, they still had to shower and get dressed before Carl came home. 

“Can I tell ya something?” he asked, and Rick was surprised to see him blush and avert his eyes.

“Mmhm, sure.”

“Before… y’know. Before ya stuck yer finger in me you just...stared, an’ then ya...breathed on me...” Daryl flushed even deeper pink, and Rick had a fair idea where this was going. “...an’ I kinda thought you were gonna…”

He couldn’t get any further. His mouth moved like he was trying to get words out but nothing was coming. Rick cleared his throat.

“Almost did.”

“Oh…” Obviously Daryl was still trying to locate where he’d put all his vocabulary.

“An’ I will. If you’ll let me.”

Daryl exhaled slowly.

“Well since yer askin’ so pretty… I might. Kinda would prefer a shower before though,” he deadpanned, still with the crimson spots on his cheeks. Rick stared at him, felt a chuckle bubble in his throat, saw Daryl suck in his lips and force down a laugh, and the next thing he knew, they were both giggling like kids.

“Ain’t funny,” the hunter gasped.

“No, no, hygiene is a serious matter, you’re absolutely right, I’m _so_ glad to notice you’ve obviously thought this through,” Rick countered with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Shut up…” 

“Make me.”

And he did.

*****

They had to get up, they still had to make themselves presentable. Like Daryl pointed out as he was dragging Rick to the shower, they’d traumatized Carl enough already to last him a lifetime. As they were standing under the waterflow and Daryl scrubbed Rick’s back with a washcloth, the leader enjoyed the mellow quiet.

Daryl broke the silence.

“Did ya like it?”

The washing up? The sex? The laughing together? The way they were so frickin’ in tune with each other it was uncanny? Yes, he fuckin’ _loved_ it.

“Which part?”

“Fuckin’ me.”

Rick turned around and cocked an eyebrow.

“You mean to say you were left in some doubt as to whether I liked it or not?” He put his best effort in trying to sound as upper class and pompous as possible. His hard work earned him a soaking washcloth in his face.

“Ya know what I mean.”

As soon as Rick had stopped spluttering, he smiled and nodded.

“Yeah I liked it. I loved it. It was pretty goddamn perfect.” He tilted his head. “You?”

“Got no complaints.” A shudder ran through the hunter, like a muscle reaction to a sensory memory. “Really don’t. It’s just… I’s just…” Daryl peered at Rick through the long, wet bangs, and Rick lifted his eyebrows.

“What?”

Daryl’s hands were on Rick’s hips. He brushed and brushed the wet skin with his thumbs, and Rick felt a distinct warmth pool in his belly. He was too old to go a second time this soon...wasn’t he? Goddamn, they didn’t have time for a test…

“‘s just thinkin’... is that the way ya wanna go? Like, what ya prefer?”

Oooooh, Rick so knew where this was going! He put his arms around the other man and pulled him close, water swooshing around them, slithering between their bodies.

“I definitely loved it and I really, really wanna do it again. But is it what I _prefer_? Dunno, do I? That was the first time for me, an’ I haven’t tried the other way, so can’t really say which I prefer.” He brushed the messy bangs aside, he wanted to see Daryl’s face properly. “Are you tryin’ to ask me if I wanna have your cock up my ass?”

The purposely blunt question brought an amused glimmer in Daryl’s eyes. 

“I guess I am."

Rick pressed their foreheads together and chuckled low.

“I love you. An’ I’ll try pretty much anything with you.” He kissed Daryl, a slow kiss, loving and content, and he loved loved _loved_ the way Daryl’s wet, pliant body molded into his.

Daryl tensed up and broke the kiss, snapped his head towards the door and listened. 

“Thought I heard something.”

There it was, a voice downstairs calling for Dad.

“Carl’s home. We’d better get dressed.”


	8. Man plans...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!

They’d thought they’d looked at all the angles, for once thought of every worst case scenario.

But by definition, you couldn’t prepare for the unexpected.

How fast it all could crumble to dust...

  
  


_-Daryl-_

He woke up before the first light of the dawn and slipped back to his cave, a pleasant ache in his backside reminding him of their lovemaking. He was fast forgetting how to put on his trademark Dixon scowl as yet another day passed with a permanent smile plastered on his face. Thank God nobody saw it! Except for Tara when she brought him food. Oh, and Rosita later in the evening as she came down for a chat. The ladies just rolled their eyes, and Rosita muttered something about young love. 

Daryl chose not hear it, just to save a bit of his faltering dignity as the resident inscrutable badass redneck.

He spent a few hours breathing fresh air in the trench but the weather had turned colder and it was hardly pleasant to just stand there, doing nothing. So he thought back to the previous evening.

Carl had spent some time with them as always. They’d eaten together, and Daryl had tried not to tease him too much about his obvious eagerness to have Enid back in Alexandria within a few days. The task had been all the more difficult because every word out of Carl’s mouth had brought a more panicked shine to Rick’s eyes. The poor man must really not be looking forward to the Talk.

When it’d been just the two of them again, they’d gone to bed -- this time just to cuddle and talk and kiss. Rick had gone quiet at some point, and Daryl had thought he was falling to sleep. But the man had kept running his fingers over Daryl’s chest, back and forth, lost in thought.

“Ya wanna talk about it?” ‘cause Rick usually wanted to, and Daryl didn’t mind. Good that one of them didn’t have problems with gettin’ words out.

Rick’d been so quiet. “I could’ve hurt you.”

“But ya didn’t.” Daryl had laced his fingers with Rick’s and held it tight against his chest, right where the tattoo sprawled over his skin.

“But I could’ve,” Rick had said again. “I wanted to. I wanted to just...take. I wanted to...not care. Oh, I dunno what it was… but I didn’t much like myself. I fought those feelings -- but that I had them in the first place… that was scary, Daryl.” He’d paused. “I could’ve hurt you,” he’d repeated, voice full of worry.

 _Fuck_. Rick had been busy tying himself into giant, intricate knots. Daryl had had to put a stop to it.

“First of all, ya didn’t hurt me. Second of all… I wouldn’t have let you,” he’d said bluntly. “I ain’t no dainty li’l thing, Rick. You’d’ve really tried to hurt me, ya might’ve found it ain’t that easy. I don’t like bein’ hurt for real, I’ve had my fair share of it already. So the things ya did do, ya did ‘cause I _let_ ya do them. Ya seemed to need it, an’ I kinda liked it.” 

He’d cleared his throat, not really used to talking about things like these in this way. Or in any way at all, to be honest. “I like it when we’re all gentle an’ stuff, but that rougher stuff was kinda hot as well.”

He’d pressed a kiss on Rick’s cheek and nuzzled his hairline. “Dude, relax. It’s ok.”

“Well alright, that...maybe eases my mind a little. I mean, I _know_ you could’ve fought me off, it’s not that… it’s more, y’know, what if I’m slipping again? It’s not like it’d be the first time things got a little too much for me. I’ve got this history with craziness…”

Daryl had huffed a laugh even though he’d known he shouldn’t, the worry in Rick’s voice had been genuine.

“Hey man, ya forget something. I _know_ you. I’ve _seen_ you go crazy. I’ve seen you talkin’ to Lori’s ghost. I was there when Joe’s guys caught you -- I saw you go all berserker on Joe, rip his throat out with your bare _teeth_ , for fuck’s sake. I’ve _seen you crazy_ \-- and today, it wasn’t that, not even close, not even on the same fuckin’ continent.”

Rick had been silent for a beat. “So… you figure it was...what? Just stress?”

Daryl had shrugged. “What do I know, I ain’t a shrink. You just needed to let out some steam, that’s all. Don’t worry so much. You get stressed out on stressing out, an’ that’s fuckin’ stupid. We have real problems to get stressed out about. You wantin’ to fuck me through the mattress sure ain’t one of them.”

After that, they’d slept, and Daryl had returned to the cave, and now he was kind of tense about the evening. Had Rick really let go off his worries or was he determined to carry yet another boulder of guilt on his shoulders? 

But the evening came and Rick marched to the cave and straight to Daryl and kissed him like he hadn’t seen him for a year and it was all good. 

The next evening, Rick arrived earlier than usual, brought food and coffee and an agenda. There was going to be another “war council” within two days, and Rick wanted to prepare for it.

“Help me,” he asked -- pleaded almost -- and rubbed his temples. “I need to have solid arguments. There’s Maggie and Rosita and Sasha and Tara and so many others who are still hurting from their losses. They’re not going to be in a frame of mind to consider mercy, not at all. They’re out for blood, an’ I can’t blame them either. I want to have a plan, a whole set of arguments, a hierarchy of mercy if you will… Like, what do we want to do with Negan -- that’s Stage One. Then his closest right-hand men and women -- that’s Stage Two. Then the ones lower in the pecking order but still with some autonomy and leadership responsibilities, like pick-up crew team leaders, outpost leaders -- that’s Stage Three. Below them it’s the regular fighters, members of the pick-up crews, scouting parties, outpost fighters -- Stage Four. And then, finally, it’s the ordinary folk at the Sanctuary, Negan’s wives, all that -- Stage Five. Sound ok to you?”

An emotionless smile tugged at Daryl’s mouth. “That sounds just fine to me. Probably won’t go down easy with the war council if there’s some tender-hearted people there. ‘cause that’s some cold shit ya got there, with all them _stages_. And where do ya start? Stage One gets, what, gas chambers?”

Rick ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated. “Oh God… you’re right, that did sound… Crap. Gotta think of another way to put it. But in general, do you agree? We need to have some sort of a scale of penalties. Makes no sense to treat a Sanctuary cook the same way as Simon. We go just as hard on a common fighter as on Dwight, we ain’t got any chance of winning the regular folk to our side. We’d just come out as the monsters.”

Daryl let out a scratchy little chuckle. “Oh, I agree. We need to have a plan, ‘cause... well, I’m just sayin’ that it could get ugly otherwise. Our people start fightin’, our people smell blood... what with all the emotions, there’s a real chance we’ll just go feral. Go all wild dog on them an’ just rip them all apart. An’ I’m sayin’ _we_ ‘cause I’d be one of them bloodthirsty hyenas. Ya ask me for help now, an’ I get that ya do ‘cause I brought it up -- but it’s not like I _feel_ the mercy. I don’t. I just... _know_ we gotta think about it. Have the plan.”

He felt the first trembles of the ‘Savior effect’; he felt his stomach contract, he felt a wave of nausea, a cold seeping in, the ghost of humiliation and loneliness and abandonment and guilt starting to take form before his eyes, the ugly _thing_ inside of him stirring and clearing its throat-- 

He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe calmly, to concentrate on the mechanics of the act, sense the muscles on his chest and the movement of his lungs. Inhale, exhale, and again, and again, until the feeling passed. 

When he opened his eyes, Rick was looking at him with concern, his body poised to take action, ready to grab Daryl in his arms the second it was needed. Daryl appreciated the wait -- he needed to learn to deal with these without Rick running to the rescue every time. This was only the second time he’d got the situation under control by himself, and so quickly no less. He wasn’t used to feeling proud of himself, and he still didn’t -- what he felt was fierce satisfaction. _Feed me a hammer, and I_ **_will_ ** _crap out nails._

They talked and planned and fell asleep tangled together after an intense make out session, and it was all good. It was great.

Until it wasn’t. 

_-Rick-_

It wasn’t easy. Trying to think of a justice system for the Saviors, when every fibre of his being thundered _death_. Death to every single Savior who’d watched and cheered as Negan bashed Abe and Glenn to a bloody pulp, for no other reason than to make an example of them. Death to everyone who’d contributed to Daryl’s hell on earth in the Sanctuary. Death to Dwight who’d killed Denise. To the one who’d shot Olivia. 

Death to every one who’d made it so that, on top of the everyday crap the apocalypse threw their way, Daryl now had to deal with nightmares and anxiety attacks. The Saviors hadn’t broken the hunter -- probably nothing could -- but they’d inflicted hairline fractures on his goddamn zen, and that alone made Rick’s fingers curl up and gravitate towards his Python. No, better yet: his knife. And he felt a primal urge to slash and tear and destroy -- the bloodier, the better.

But if Daryl was strong enough to force his feelings aside on this, then so would he. And of course they were right -- Daryl and Carl. Of course they were. It couldn’t be just about unbridled revenge. He was an officer of the law, for God’s sake, and that still had to mean _something_.

They had a piece of heaven to themselves, a counterbalance to all the other crap -- they could spend the nights together, snuggle against each other, and it made everything a bit better. Rick fell asleep to fluffy fantasies of how they’d raise Carl and Judith together, make a home for themselves, build a life, be a _couple_. 

And he slept so well, so peacefully, that it took him several seconds to shake the happy dreams when their plans fell to pieces. 

At first, he thought it was about Carl or Judith. Taken ill during the night or something.

“Rick! Someone’s coming!” Daryl’s sleepy whisper and his firm hand on Rick’s arm woke him up little by little.

“Wha..?” he mumbled, still half asleep. The grogginess vanished quickly when he recognized the sound of running footsteps in the passages; the next thing was a voice calling their name, the bright beam of a flashlight, and then it was Michonne hurrying into the cave. 

_-Michonne-_

Most nights, she slept soundly. But now she lay wide awake, and a headache squeezed her temples. She tried to ignore it and fall back to sleep, but then she needed to pee and after that she was thirsty, so she turned on a few lights, and padded down to the kitchen to have a sip of water. Maybe she’d just stay in the living room and read for a bit. 

The hurried, furtive knock on the door took her completely by surprise, and she almost choked on the sip. Who on earth would come at this hour? It’d be nothing good, that was for sure.

She opened the door and was nearly knocked back by Aaron who was half-carrying another man. 

“Close the door,” Aaron panted. “Lights off, too. Don’t even know why you’re up at this hour but I’m not complaining. Just… maybe not a great idea to let anyone else see us.”

He dragged the other man to the kitchen and set him down on a chair. The man was barely conscious; he lurched forward and Aaron only just managed to catch him before he hit his head on the table. Michonne had recognized him, of course, but only because of the familiar beard and the long hair -- Jesus’s features were covered in blood and mud.

She still hadn’t said anything -- she followed the men, turned off the lights, and stopped at the kitchen doorway with her arms crossed. She waited.

Aaron went to get a glass of water and tried to coax Jesus to take a sip. The man coughed and spluttered, but managed to take a few gulps. That seemed to help a little; he kept his head up and peered at the others in the dark kitchen. Michonne huffed and went to get a small table lamp from the hall, put it on the floor and plugged it in. 

“We need to see,” she grunted. “He’s hurt, isn’t he?”

Jesus was too dazed to answer for himself; Aaron nodded. He looked tired. Michonne quirked an eyebrow at him. About time to get an explanation for this.

“I was on gate shift with Eric. Jesus stumbled into the gate a while ago. Like, literally. Banged his head on it. We let him in, an’ as soon as I found out some of what had happened, I knew we needed to get him here, to patch him up an’ get the rest of the story.” He raised his head and looked around. “Where’s Rick? You’d think he’d’ve woken up…”

“He’s not here,” Michonne replied in an impassive voice. Her mind whirred, she tried to decide whether to let Aaron in on the secret already. “Is this important enough for me to go get him?”

“Yes.” The sound was a mere breath of air. Jesus turned his bloodshot eyes on Michonne. “I’d fuckin’ say it was. They attacked Hilltop, Michonne. Killed people. An’ I don’t know...don’t know where Maggie is-”

The man fainted right out.

Michonne stared at him, at Aaron, nodded at herself. 

“I’ll go get Rick. You take care of him. You know where to find bandages.” And she was off, first hurrying upstairs to change from the pajamas to jeans and shirt, then heading towards the back door. Just as she vanished out of the door, she heard Carl’s sleepy voice asking what the hell was going on.

She lifted the sewer lid without making even the tiniest clink, and slid down the manhole. She turned on the flashlight and started to jog towards Daryl’s lair, the urgency of Jesus’s words raising her pulse more than the slow jog. Attacked Hilltop? And she hadn’t even needed to ask _who_ …

Daryl had been down here almost four weeks, and she hadn’t visited him once. It wasn’t that she disliked him anymore -- she’d almost forgiven Rick by now for fuck’s sake, and she’d figured she’d never had any reason to be angry with Daryl in the first place. So it wasn’t that. She just had nothing to say to him. She didn’t have any idea how to approach _any_ subject with the archer. Everything came back to Rick. She wasn’t exactly proud of her slow progress. They’d never been bosom friends but they’d got along just fine before. Their family wasn’t large enough that they could afford estrangement like this.

As Michonne came closer to Daryl’s cave, she called out to them. Didn’t want to startle them and get a bolt in her skin ‘cause of it. She braced herself for the sight of the two men, together, but the whole Hilltop thing helped -- a large part of her thoughts was on Hilltop, on Maggie, on Jesus, and she didn’t have much energy to spare on the bare chests of Rick and Daryl, or on the way Daryl’s arm was wrapped around Rick. She was surprised to notice how little it did, in fact, bother her. That was the only bright spot in this situation. 

_-Daryl-_

_What the hell is Michonne doin’ here?_

Heavy coldness slammed in the pit of his stomach: only a disaster would’ve made her enter what was essentially Rick and Daryl’s bedroom. Rick tensed up under his hand and he slid his arm protectively around the other man’s waist -- it must’ve occurred to Rick as well that this might have something to do with the kids. _Oh God, no, please…_

Rick drew a deep breath, and Daryl felt the tremble of his muscles. The leader didn’t get a word out, however -- Michonne beat him to it.

“Hilltop’s been attacked. Jesus is here. Rick, you better come up right now.”

Both men sat up fast like they’d been hit with a cattle prod.

“What?” yelped Rick. Terror constricted Daryl’s heart, and the only sound he got out was a breathy “Maggie?”

Michonne looked impatient.

“Look, guys, I’ve got no answers. Jesus is in a bad shape, Aaron dragged him in from the gate. Maybe he’s better now, maybe he can tell us more -- but Rick, you gotta come quick. We don’t know what this means for Alexandria.”

Daryl bit his lip and let go of Rick. The leader stood up and started to put on his shirt and boots. Daryl had nothing to do except watch and wonder how he’d keep it together, alone, waiting for someone to come tell him what was going on. 

He met Michonne’s gaze. It held no animosity; she had the look of someone who had bigger problems than two guys sleeping together, nevermind that one of them was her ex-boyfriend.

Rick grabbed his jacket and took a hesitant step forward. He turned to look first at Daryl, then Michonne.

“Look Michonne… I think it’s best if Daryl-”

“Was gonna suggest it myself,” Michonne cut him off in that brusque, no-nonsense way she had. “Jesus already knows he’s here and Aaron all but does. An’ anyway, we don’t know how much time we can spare on ferrying information back and forth. Daryl, wanna join us?”

“Fuckin’ finally,” he grumbled, threw aside the blankets, and was ready to leave in less than a minute. 

When they came to the kitchen, Carl was there with Aaron and Jesus. Goddamn, Jesus was a mess. Carl and Aaron had cleaned him up some but the poor guy was full of scratches and wounds, and Daryl only hoped they were all caused by the living.

Aaron looked at Daryl and lifted an eyebrow but didn’t really seem all that surprised to see him. 

“Good to see you, Daryl,” he said. “I just wish it was under better circumstances.”

Daryl clapped him on the shoulder. “You an’ me both. You good? Eric ok?”

Aaron gave him a small smile and a nod, and they both turned their eyes on Jesus.

Rick had sat down on the chair just opposite the Hilltop man. “Tell us,” he ordered. Then his tone softened. “If you’re ok. You don’t look so good…” 

Jesus gave a faint smile. “I’m better now.” He took another sip of water. “The Saviors came this morning. The sun had barely gone up. It was Simon an’ Dwight an’ maybe twenty others, armed to the teeth. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Simon that mad. It was like it’d been a personal affront to him, this ‘treachery’ as he called it.”

Daryl let his eyes drift over the others. It looked like everyone was biting their lips, trying not to shout out questions. Like, ‘what treachery?’.

“Negan had found out Maggie was alive and hiding in Hilltop. He sent Simon to get ‘the Widow’ and to punish Hilltop. I guess he didn’t fully understand how personally Simon took it.”

Jesus wobbled on the chair, grimaced, and drank the rest of the water. Aaron went to fill the glass up.

“Nobody knows where Maggie is. I dunno how she got away but she did. Sixth sense or something. I bet there’s a bunch of Saviors roaming the woods searching for her, furious and trigger-happy. I’m guessing you may expect another visit from Negan an’ his cohorts soon.” 

Jesus fixed his gaze on Daryl. “It’s so good to see you, Daryl -- good to see you lookin’ so well an’ all, but you should go back to your hide-out after we’re done talking. I really don’t want to think of the destruction Negan would pour on Alexandria if he found you here, after Maggie… I think they’re coming, just to check if she’s found her way here.”

Brow furrowed, Rick chewed on his lip. “So what happened then? ‘m guessin’ nothing good…”

They all had gotten used to how calm Jesus always was -- observant, earnest, sensible, unflappable, with a dash of irreverent sense of humor. Daryl didn’t remember ever having seen that flash of devastation on the younger man’s face. 

The man folded his hands and gathered his thoughts.

“Remember Negan and his ‘people are a resource’? Well, Simon seemed to forget it… They were certain she was there, dunno why’s that...although I’ve got my suspicions… But after they’d searched the place and didn’t find Maggie, he went all fire an’ brimstone on us… Negan had told him to punish the Hilltop, and that’s just what he did. He gathered every single person to the front yard and told us he’d make us pay tithes-”

“What’s that?” Daryl frowned.

“It’s like, like a tax, like a tenth of what you have.” Michonne explained, and a look of foreboding crept on her face. “You don’t mean what I think…”

“Yeah, I do.” A tear trickled down Jesus’s cheek. Aaron wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “He told us we’d pay with our lives… that they’d kill exactly ten percent of us -- and he grinned while saying that. Dunno...even that Dwight-fellow looked upset about that, and as far as I know, he ain’t a kind-hearted man either.” Jesus glanced at Daryl. 

“All hell broke loose… The people of Hilltop may be farmers, mostly, but they aren’t cowards, they fought like cornered rats. There was a fight and some got away. But not enough. Simon just kept shooting at people, counting while he did it. He didn’t care who he killed, he killed young an’ old, women an’ men, children… I tried to get my hands on him but Dwight covered him all the time, so I settled with taking down some of the others...that’s how I got to be in this shape. Then I thought...I thought I gotta get away, I gotta get here, to warn you… The last I saw, Simon’s guys were trashing the mansion.”

Aaron squeezed him tighter. Daryl took a few steps closer, pat him awkwardly on the back -- this wasn’t his forte but the man looked like he could use some support. Somehow, Daryl had a horrible feeling they hadn’t even heard the worst yet. Michonne voiced the question.

“Did you see who died?” 

Jesus swallowed and kept his eyes on the glass of water and his folded hands.

“Not all, ‘s not like I stayed to sort through the corpses...but I saw some of it...dunno if you know them all… Andy...Stephanie...Tammy...Marco...Adeline...Miles…”

The sense of impending doom grew stronger. Rosita, Sasha and Tara had been safely in Alexandria, Maggie had escaped -- as far as Daryl knew, there was only one person who’d been in Hilltop at the time whose death would make Jesus so very reluctant to look them in the eye. Oh fuck, no…

Jesus exhaled, a quick puff of air, like a futile effort to delay facing the worst. He lifted his eyes and looked at them, each one in turn, and settled on Carl. Even in the dim light, they could all see how the color drained from the teenager’s face.

“I’m so sorry, Carl… Enid’s gone.”


	9. Blood

_-Daryl-_

“I’m so sorry, Carl… Enid’s gone,” Jesus said.

The boy stood stock still, staring at the bearer of bad news. Rick stood up, slowly, and walked to his son. Daryl didn’t know what to do -- the sadness itching under his skin wasn’t so much for Enid even though of course she was too young to die, of course it was a horrible loss. Daryl hadn’t known her so well, though -- but he knew Carl. He loved Carl, and his heart ached for the boy. There was so little happiness in this world, so few things to be hopeful for, and Daryl knew Carl had been in love, had worn his heart on his sleeve about the girl, had had hopes for the future, giddy teenage plans…

Goddamn, as if the boy hadn’t lost enough already! Daryl wanted to leave, to take his crossbow and go on a hunt, track Simon down and gut him like a deer. 

It wouldn’t bring Enid back, though. 

He watched Rick put his hands on Carl’s shoulders. The room was too silent, Daryl heard his heart thump too fast. He wanted to go to Carl but he didn’t know if he’d be welcome. 

Rick glanced at him, and Daryl saw he was uncertain how to approach his own son, this young man who’d lost his first love. Maybe Rick would welcome him, maybe he could help… So he went to them, and the dam broke, the shock burst through, and Carl’s eyes welled with tears, they ran down his cheeks, and he leaned into both men and wound his arms around them and held them like they were the only thing keeping him afloat.

Daryl looked at Rick. The man had tears in his eyes, he moved his hand on Carl’s back in soothing circles, and the glance he threw at Daryl told him Rick was at a loss. There was nothing either of them could say that would ease Carl’s misery. Daryl didn’t know what to do -- he felt for Carl, he felt for Rick, and the only thing he _could_ do was to take them both in his arms.

The room wasn’t silent anymore, the quiet sobs from Carl had broken it even though the boy had buried his face in his dad’s shoulder. The boy was the product of the apocalypse, however, much too used to dealing with pain, so it didn’t take long before he pulled back, wiped the tears from his eyes, nodded at his dad and Daryl, and looked past them to Jesus. Rick and Daryl turned to follow his gaze.

“You’re absolutely sure she wasn’t-.” His voice broke down and he cleared his throat. “...she wasn’t just wounded?”

Jesus’s words came out low and quiet. “I’m sorry, Carl… I’m sure. I...I saw it.”

A fleeting flash of pain on the other man’s face told Daryl that there might’ve been more to say, explicit details about what Jesus had seen… God, he hoped Carl wouldn’t insist… It wouldn’t help him to hear how she’d been shot in the head, or how her throat had been slit, or... 

Luckily, Carl accepted Jesus’s words. He stood at Rick’s side, his dad’s hand firmly on his shoulder. Daryl noticed only then he’d kept a hold of Rick, he hadn’t wanted to leave the man alone to comfort his son. And he noticed that Aaron and Jesus noticed.

It wasn’t the time for teasing eyebrow waggles, and Daryl didn’t expect any backlash either -- not from these men of all people. He met their gazes without the smallest flinch. Aaron gave him a tiny smile and a nod, and that was it. 

Rick drew a deep breath. Daryl reckoned the man wanted nothing so much as just to comfort Carl and to hell with everything else, but the repercussions of the Hilltop attack had to be discussed without delay. They had no plan for this -- didn’t mean they couldn’t make one on the fly.

“Michonne, go get Rosita, Tara, Sasha and Gabe. Right now. Be careful, don’t let anyone see you. It’s not a good idea to give the regular folk any idea that something is going on.”

She left without a word. Everyone looked at Rick. Daryl wondered how the man was so calm. His eyes were clear and alert, and his voice hadn’t trembled at all. It was as if he hadn’t just been woken up from deep sleep, rushed over to hear about a disaster, the disappearance of an old friend, and the death of his son’s girlfriend.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was why Rick was their leader. That was why Daryl would follow him to hell and back. He might disagree with him sometimes, question him, challenge him -- but when the push came to shove, Daryl would be on his side, support him, watch his back. 

Would anyone entrust him with watching their leader’s back, though? Daryl’s gullibility had given Dwight the crossbow and that had led to Denise’s death. And he still wasn’t convinced Glenn’s fate wasn’t on him, in spite of Tara’s passionate and repeated arguments to the contrary. He’d let himself be caught, beaten up, enslaved; for the last month the only thing he’d been good for was hiding in sewers an’ reading books. Who would trust someone like that? Who’d listen to him, who’d be willing to give him _any_ kind of responsibilities when he so obviously couldn’t even take care of himself? 

Daryl craved being useful again, wanted to take his place as Rick’s second-in-command once again, but how was he supposed to do that, what with the burrowing underground an’ shit?

Someone cleared their throat, and that small noise jolted him. _Dixons aren’t chicken_ , he reminded himself. 

Was he gonna stand here and wait for the others to dig him back up, give him something to do, like handing out a bone to a good doggie as a reward for bein’ nice an’ quiet?

_What the fuck, man? Am I a fuckin’ wallflower? When did I become the nerd standin’ at the edge of the dance floor, hopin’ someone would grace me with their oh so amiable attention?_

Rick started talking again. “I don’t think Maggie’s coming here. She knows it’d be a huge risk for everyone -- she knows it’s the first place Negan would look. I’m thinkin’ she’s heading towards the Kingdom. However, there’s nothing we can do about it right now, except hope she won’t get caught.”

Daryl shifted, waged a short battle against the need to cross his arms in a pre-emptive defensive stance, and turned to look at Rick. “Ya gonna send a messenger there? Should we go get a look at Hilltop, too? Maybe we’d find a clue about her, we know what to look for, not like Simon an’ his crew.” He remembered something, and flicked his gaze to Jesus. “What did ya mean by havin’ suspicions? D’ya know who ratted on Maggie?”

It pleased Daryl that no-one so much as blinked at him taking an active part in the discussion. Just like that, it was as if the past four months hadn’t existed at all. Daryl was forced to admit that when it came to the whole letting-Negan-humiliate-him or cowering-in-the-sewers, he might’ve blown the significance of them out of proportion. ‘cause it seemed like no-one, at least not the people who mattered, thought he was any less capable because of those things.

Rick had been on the verge of saying something but as he heard Daryl’s questions to Jesus, he snapped his mouth shut and gave an expectant look at the Hilltop man. 

Jesus twiddled with his glass and watched the water sway in it.

“I’m not sure, gotta be honest. It’s just a feeling. And the fact that he wasn’t there this morning. Or maybe he was just hiding inside the house -- what do I know. Just… the last time I saw him was two days ago. Didn’t think anything of it -- maybe if I had, we could’ve avoided this…”

“Gregory?” Rick and Daryl said, voices flat. Was it really even a question?

Jesus looked up and nodded. “He hates Maggie. Hates that she took over from him. Hates that she’s beautiful and brilliant, and that the Hilltop people pretty much lap up everything she says. She’s feisty and she has the mind of a military leader, and Gregory can’t compete with that. He’s a worm, and always has been. So with all that in mind, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d sold her out, even knowing it would backlash on his own people. He’s always looked out for number one, and it ain’t never been Hilltop...The community was just a convenient tool for him, stroked his ego to ‘keep them safe’ or something… with Maggie there, he lost his clout so, I dunno, maybe he figured he’d cut a better deal with Negan like this.” 

Daryl snorted. “Probably got cut for his troubles. Can’t imagine Negan would be happy to hear Gregory’s been hidin’ Maggie for months.”

Aaron cast a worried look at the others. “How much does Gregory know of our plans?”

Rick shook his head. “Not that much, really. We kept him out of the loop -- we ain’t complete idiots.” He grimaced. “Just morons. We trusted him with Maggie, and look where that got us.” He sneaked a glance at Carl. The boy’s jaw moved, he bit his teeth together tight, and you could almost hear the muscles straining.

Jesus shrugged. “We don’t know for sure. An’ anyway, he doesn’t know much, like Rick said. Just the general idea -- that the communities are unhappy with Negan’s rule an’ that’s hardly news for the guy.” 

They didn’t talk as they waited for the others. Rick sat down and rubbed his face, deep in thought. Daryl hovered close to Carl, watched the young boy, tried to figure out if he was on the verge of collapse or about to go off like a powder keg. The boy glanced at him, and Daryl was worried. There was a dull glint in Carl’s eyes. No tears anymore, no sadness, no rage -- just a pitch-black void, chock-full of goddamn _nothing_ , and it made Daryl uncomfortable. He was no specialist in how people should demonstrate feelings but was it really normal for a teenager to go from tears to a black hole within five minutes? 

He’d keep an eye on the boy. He’d make certain the kid wouldn’t do anything he’d live to regret. Or die to not regret. Which would be the end of Rick, and Daryl couldn’t have that.

After long minutes, the people started trickling in. First Tara and Sasha, then Rosita, and a few minutes later, Michonne and Father Gabriel. Gabe’s reaction to Daryl mirrored that of Aaron’s.

“Good to see you, Daryl,” he nodded and gave a small smile.

Rick stood up again. “It’s best you hear this from Jesus. Please, tell the story again, from the beginning.” 

He leaned on the table and watched the reactions. Daryl saw him give thoughtful looks to each of the people present, and Daryl saw clearly that the man was just as worried about Carl as he was. Then Rick’s eyes flicked to Jesus, assessed his condition, darted to Daryl, lifted an eyebrow, and Daryl gave a half-shrug. He’d guessed as much. 

When the Hilltop man was done with the story, Rick pushed himself away from the table, walked to Daryl and Carl, and turned to face the others. He drew a deep breath.

“Obviously, we gotta adjust our plans real quick now.” He chewed on his lip, lost in thought for a second. “Here’s how it’s gonna go. Rosita, you leave for the Kingdom as soon as this meeting is over. You go tell Ezekiel how the land lies, and how the Saviors treat people who’ve done nothing to them except kept a pregnant woman safe. Maybe it’s enough to rattle his complacency and get him to join us. Worth a shot anyway. Circle wide around Hilltop; I’m betting the woods are crawling with Saviors lookin’ for Maggie, and they’ll probably settle with shootin’ any Alexandrian in her stead, so be real careful, alright?” 

Rosita shifted as if to leave right away but Rick raised a hand. “Don’t leave just yet. You need to be able to bring the King up to speed on our plans.”

Rick looked around, his face grave. “Dunno why Negan’s not yet at our doorstep but I think he will be within the next ten hours or so. So we’ll stay put, we’ll wait. We’ll know nothing at all about anything Hilltop-related an’ we’ll put on such a good show it’d be Oscars and Emmys all round for everybody. We’ll let them search this place, we’ll be surprised about Maggie, and we’ll rave an’ rant about the destruction of Hilltop ‘cause that’s something we’d do, that’d be something he’d expect. And after they’re gone -- the minute the Saviors are out that gate -- the plan goes into action. Rosita gets a head start -- that may come in useful, if the Kingdom decides to open their eyes and see what’s what.”

Sasha frowned. “But why can’t we start right now? It takes time to collect the gear, get the stuff from the stashes, and it’s almost two days’ trip to the farthest outpost-”

“Can’t be helped,” Daryl’s raspy voice cut in before Rick had time to react. “We can’t all leave, there’d be nobody here to welcome the fuckin’ Saviors when they come, and they’d know that something’s up. Negan ain’t stupid. After the Maggie thing at Hilltop, he comes here an’ doesn’t find Rick, ‘chonne, you, Tara, Rosita, Gabe, Carl, Aaron, an’ at least two dozen other Alexandrians which he unfortunately recognizes already, the rest of our people got hell to pay. No, we gotta sit tight on our asses an’ hope they come tomorrow, ‘cause the longer that takes, the longer it takes for us to start the preparations. Rosita leavin’ is ok, she’s out on runs all the time already so it’s no big deal to them. But others...just, no.”

Sasha took a long look at Daryl, pressed her lips tight, and nodded. 

“It’s like Daryl said,” Rick took the floor again. “But the minute they’re gone, Aaron, I want you in Hilltop. You gotta go see what’s the deal there. Simon can’t have killed them all… you get as many fighters as you can find, head to Stash Three, and then to the bullet outpost. If Jesus is able to leave with you, he will; the original plan was him and Maggie there but we gotta roll with the punches. Sasha, you’re on your own now. You take your team and leave for the Stash Four and the Northern outpost like you got demons on your asses. This ain’t ideal, Sasha, I know, but we don’t got a lot of time even if we can fool Negan’s people tomorrow… Tara an’ Michonne, you’re in charge of takin’ out the Southern outpost so you head to Stash Two. Me and Daryl, we’ll take our team to the Eastern outpost. The moment the gate closes behind the Saviors, it’s exactly 48 hours to the attack, so keep your watches in working order. You know how crucial it is that they’re all taken down at the same time…”

He paused to look at his team, every one of them cataloguing the changes and adjusting their minds to them.

“Gabe, since Tara is heading out, you gotta keep Alexandria safe until this is over. If everything goes as planned, walker stragglers are your only threat, but as we’ve just seen, it takes exactly ten minutes for the plans to be shot all to hell an’ back, so you’re our last line of defence. That ok with you?”

Father Gabriel had changed so much since the day they’d met, sometimes Daryl barely recognized the man anymore. The man was tight-lipped, did not look happy, but he gave a solemn nod, and Daryl knew he’d defend Alexandria or die trying.

Rick took a look at the exhausted Hilltopian. “Jesus, you need to rest an’ you need to hide. Daryl will take you to his hide-out and you’ll stay there together until the Saviors are gone. Take as much food as you can carry, it may be we can’t risk coming down there until Negan has paid us his visit.

Jesus glanced at Rick, then Daryl. “You sure?”

Daryl nodded at him. He’d guessed this a while ago. ‘cause where else could the guy hide, really? Not good for Daryl and Rick’s us-time, sure, but it wasn’t like they could do anything now anyways, not with the plan bein’ jump-started by Simon. The next time they’d be able to cuddle would be when Negan would have a hole in his head. And Daryl kinda wanted to be the one to put it there. He looked at the frozen expression on the teenager’s face, and his fingers itched to _kill_. Mightn’t have been Negan’s intention to decimate Hilltop -- but he’d sent Simon, and he’d pay for it.

He went to Jesus and hauled the man up. “Come on, we better get goin’. We don’t need no surprises now.” He gave Carl a steady look. “Hey kid, wanna bring us some food? I can’t carry nothin’, I gotta drag this sorry ass down there.” 

It took them twenty minutes of slow going just to get to the manhole. Jesus was exhausted, and Daryl more or less carried him just to avoid the noise of Jesus’s stumbling. He helped the man down the short ladder and the long way to the cave.

“Home sweet home,” he said in a dry voice when they finally emerged to the faint light of the lantern. He took the other man to the only bed he had and pushed him down. “Ya need to rest.”

Jesus looked around; it was obvious the bed had just been slept in -- two pillows, two sets of crumpled blankets.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “You an’ Rick-”

“Yeah, well, ain’t hardly your fault the Saviors are dicks,” Daryl’s voice held a clear warning, it said _Shut up_ louder than words. “Ya gotta sleep it off, we got shit to do tomorrow.”

Jesus toed off his boots, lay down on the bed, scooted close to the wall and burrowed under the blanket. _My blanket_ , Daryl thought, and let himself be miserable about the situation for half a second. Not longer though. It wasn’t like they hadn’t known the war was coming; this was what they’d been preparing for.

His eyes wandered around the cave. Maybe he could pile some clothes on the tarpaulin and get some sleep there? Couldn’t be worse than the Sanctuary cell so he got nothing to complain.

“Don’t be an ass, Dixon. I think it’s been amply proven that two grown men can sleep on this mattress, so get in here and get your rest. I promise to keep my libido in check.” The tired voice had a note of humor in it, and Daryl remembered again why he’d grown to like this guy. Jesus could bounce back with the best of them.

And he really had no reason to demur. He’d slept just as close to a lot of people during After; it had been one of the first, hard lectures on the inevitability of physical proximity he’d had to learn, because otherwise he’d’ve frozen to death, simple as that. 

So he shrugged, took off his boots and slipped under the other blanket, and the scent of Rick surrounded him, it clung to the pillow and the blanket, and Daryl knew he had no business relaxing, with the way things were now, but he couldn’t help it, every muscle in his body unwound and his mind cleared. He turned on his back and took a swift glance at the other man.

“You ok?”

The man didn’t answer, and Daryl thought he’d fallen asleep. After a minute, Jesus shifted and sighed. 

“Really not, y’know.” He stared at the ceiling. “It was so damn vicious. Maybe it was the contrast… Simon had always seemed so calm somehow. Reasonable, in a weird way. Violent, yes, but not so… so _unpredictable_ as Negan. And then the guy just _snapped_ , y’know… I mean, I saw him shoot a baby. A fuckin’ _baby!_ ” 

Jesus rubbed his eyes. “Tammy… If Earl made it, I dunno how he’s gonna survive losing her… An’ havin’ to come here an’ face Carl…” He exhaled hard. “Yeah, I feel like crap. But I guess you expected that.”

“Kinda, yeah. You think you’ll be good to go tomorrow?”

“Probably. A li’l rest, some food, lots of water, clean bandages, an’ I’m just peachy.”

Daryl’s mouth twitched into a small, almost involuntary, blink-and-you-missed-it smile.

“I ain’t about to push ya out the gate if you’re half dead already, but I gotta tell ya...I’d feel a lot better if Aaron didn’t hafta go to Hilltop alone…”

“I hear ya. I’ll try resting real hard -- heal in doubletime. A fuckin’ medical miracle, that’s me.”

Now Daryl let out an actual laugh. A tiny huff of a chuckle, but still, it felt good. He glanced at the other man; Jesus was looking back at him, pale-blue eyes crinkled in smile. Tired, battered, and yet he mustered a smile. Daryl had a lot of respect for a man like that. Could be this guy might become a real friend? The annoying li’l shit they’d met less than six months ago had turned out to be kinda ok. 

Daryl had this worksheet in his head with rows and columns all neat and organized. Titled “Family”, “Friends”, “Us”, “Meh”, and “Foes”. _Us_ was everyone on their side -- Alexandrians and Hilltop. _Meh_ was the in-between of Us and Foes. At the moment, the Kingdom was firmly in that column. Daryl didn’t think much of people who didn’t have the guts to see reality for what it was, or who preferred looking the other way to taking a stand. 

_Foes_ was self-explanatory, and pretty much the only column from which the people couldn’t relocate to another column. At least, that had been Daryl’s experience so far. With exceptions, of course… Tara came to mind: the woman had moved from Foes to Meh to Us to Friends to Family with the speed of lightning. So maybe it could happen. With the current Foes, however… probably not. Daryl had real trouble visualizing himself havin’ a friendly cup of coffee with Dwight or Negan. 

And then there were _Friends_ and _Family_. The columns with the highest level of requirements. Daryl was slow to have friends. He had over forty years of experience in not having any; it had taken a long time to even recognize what it was about. Carol and Rick had taught him well, though, and had become his first friends. Thinking of Carol squeezed his heart painfully, but still, she was his friend, his family too, and would never stop being those things, even if she never felt safe enough to come back. Michonne...she was Family, not Friend, but then Family was the ultimate column in Daryl’s heart. Jesus wasn’t there yet, but he was damn near to becoming a Friend. Which Daryl wouldn’t _tell_ him, obviously -- shit, wouldn’t that be a corny chick-flic moment! But in his heart, a cell was slowly shifting in the Excel file.

His sharp ears detected sounds in the passages. The way Jesus tensed up beside him revealed that the other man had heard them too.

“Don’t worry,” he drawled. “‘s just Carl. I told him to bring us food, remember?” 

_-Rick-_

He wasn’t about to let his son out of his sight as long as he could help it. He’d got Daryl’s intention, and it was a good one: to give the boy something to do, something to focus on, instead of having reruns of Enid’s death bouncing around in his head. And one look at Carl’s dead eyes gave him the uncomfortable feeling that her death wasn’t even the worst thing in there. It could well be Carl had lost the word ‘mercy’ from his vocabulary with a single shot from Simon’s gun. 

The thought made Rick’s heart cringe. With all the hatred he harbored towards the Saviors, it had been somehow comforting to know his teenage son wasn’t yet hardened the same way. Carl still had a glimmer of innocence in him, and Rick feared the bullet that killed Enid had also killed that tiny spark.

However, Carl wouldn’t be leaving the house on his own, not while the pain was only minutes’ old. So after Rosita had left to pack her stuff and slink out the gate, and the others had gone to their houses to get whatever rest they could, he and Carl gathered food and water bottles and sneaked to the manhole through the darkness. The morning light was still a few hours away.

Carl stayed quiet, and Rick wished he knew if it’d be better to make him talk or to let him be. They trudged along the passages and finally entered the dimly lit cave.

Rick hadn’t expected to feel a pang of jealosy as he saw Daryl in bed with Jesus. But he did -- a scratchy pinch in his heart, the hair on his arms standing up. 

_What did I think would happen with this living arrangement when I explicitly told Jesus to stay here with Daryl?_ he chastised himself, trying to cast aside the worthless feeling. There was only the one bed, and both men needed to rest, and he trusted Daryl more than he trusted himself. So really, no need to be fuckin’ stupid about it.

He made sure his voice was calm. “We brought you more food and water. It should tide you over the next day. 

Daryl’s all-seeing eyes were on him. The hunter rolled out of bed and walked over to him, didn’t stop, passed him by and padded silently farther into the tunnel. Rick glanced at the others, put down the bag and followed the archer. Rick had his flashlight so he noticed the other man twirl around and stop with his arms crossed.

“Ya got somethin’ to say?” Daryl rumbled in a low voice, almost a whisper, to keep the others from hearing.

“You know the plan, there’s n-”

“Not the plan, Rick. Not about the plan. Dontcha think I don’t see ya got your panties in a twist about somethin’. This about the bed?” And Daryl jerked his head towards the cave. 

Rick let out a deep, long exhale. “It’s nothing, Daryl…”

A sceptical snort.

“I mean it, it’s nothing. I didn’t expect one of you to sleep on the stone floor. Just...didn’t think about the reality of seeing you like that, an’ for a second it just-

“I love you.” 

Words stuck in Rick’s throat. Daryl had pushed the _i-love-you_ out with force, like he’d wanted to jam Rick’s babble with something, anything, and the flashlight revealed the bright flush on his face. The archer cleared his throat.

“I love ya, Rick. Ain’t said that before, figured you’d know it already but looks like ya don’t. Ya need, like, a reminder or somethin’. Come on man, the bed…’s just practical, an’ I know ya know it. Ya think I’d hurt ya like...like that? I love ya, an’ that’s all there is to it. Ya go up an’ sleep an’ worry about the war an’ Negan an’ Maggie an’ whatever. Ya don’t hafta worry about me an’ ya certainly ain’t gotta worry about Jesus.” 

There wasn’t much tenderness in the sound of Daryl’s hard whisper. Rick was being _chastised_ \-- he was being _informed_ about Daryl’s love, and it was so unromantic that it was precisely the way it should be. This was Daryl-fuckin’-Dixon after all. There was absolutely no room for laughter, not the way things were now, but Rick couldn’t help but let his lips curl into a small fond _(smitten!)_ smile. Daryl tended to have that effect on him, whether the grumpy archer chose to acknowledge it or not. He drew the man in his arms and kissed him, one of those slow, savoring kisses which said _I love you_ with every touch and every flick of a tongue.

Jesus threw him a tired but amused glance when he wished them good night. Carl trudged back to the house in silence and slunk into his room. Rick walked slowly behind him, peeked into Judith’s room and marveled the ability of toddlers to seemingly sleep through everything. He went on and stopped at the door of his own bedroom. He stared at Carl’s door, wondered what he should do. Finally, he grunted to himself and went to knock on the door.

“Yeah?”

Rick opened the door and stepped in. Carl was standing at the window and looking out to the perfect darkness.

“You should get some sleep.”

“Don’t wanna.” He still didn’t turn from the window.

“You want me to stay?”

“I ain’t a baby, dad.” The scoff wasn’t a _No_ , and they both knew it.

“You don’t hafta be a baby to need company. I know what it’s like to lose someone, Carl, and trust me, isolating yourself is the worst thing you can do to yourself.”

“You did that.”

“And that’s how I know. The pain ain’t easier to carry alone, Carl. It’s the same as with all other burdens -- it’s easier if there’s someone with you. I can’t carry your sorrow but maybe I can support you while you work on it?”

Now Carl turned and there was a faint trace of frustrated amusement on his face. “God, dad, you know you’re paraphrasing The Lord of the Rings?”

“Nothing new under the sun.”

“...and that’s from the Bible.”

Rick chuckled. This was working like a charm. “Ok, I’ll just shut up now. You’ve blown my cover as an original thinker.”

There was a tiny flicker of life in Carl’s eyes again. He took off his boots and slid under the blankets. Rick went to lie beside him, on his side as the bed was just a twin. He figured Carl wouldn’t mind it, though. Right this moment, he was a child who was almost a man, and he needed his father’s proximity but wouldn’t know how to ask for it because, y’know, of the ‘almost a grown-up’ thing. Rick knew his son.

*

They woke up to Michonne knocking on the door. 

“They’re here,” she said, not wasting any words when she entered. 

Rick was wide awake in a second. He rolled out of the bed and put his boots on. Carl lay on the bed, stared at the ceiling. The boy sighed and got up.

Michonne took a hard look at him. “Can you pull this off? We can’t raise his suspicions. He can’t see _anything_ on your face that shouldn’t be there.”

That was harsh, Rick thought. He put his fatherly feelings aside, though -- Michonne was right.

“We could say you’re sick or something,” she offered.

“No, I’m good. I can do this,” Carl muttered and walked out the room. 

“Judith?” Rick asked Michonne. They couldn’t leave her alone in the house.

“Woke up an hour ago. Fed her and took her to Barbara. Told her I’d appreciate it if they stayed in the house until either of us came to get her.”

“Good.” 

The Saviors were still at the gate when Rick, Michonne and Carl got there. Negan was uncharacteristically quiet. Gone were the all-knowing smirks, the flippant swings of the bat. His rage was etched on his face in hard, cold lines, and his stiff posture gave away the concentration, the force of the control he had on himself. 

“Rick.” The same fierce control over his voice.

Rick gave him a steady look and the tiniest nod in acknowledgment. “Why’re you here? It’s not time for a pick-up yet. Rosita’s still on a run, we don’t got a lot-”

“Shut up.” 

Rick shrugged and shut up.

Negan glanced at Dwight who was standing right beside him, just a little bit farther back -- the perfect image of a deferential henchman. Simon was nowhere to be seen, and Rick wondered if Dwight’s part in what happened at Hilltop had been forgiven or if this was a test of some kind. 

The Saviors dispersed through the town and commenced their search. Michonne looked around.

“May I speak?” she asked in a cool, impassive voice.

Negan watched her, his eyes searching, searching… but trying to penetrate the Wall of Michonne was always an exercise in futility, even to those who thought they knew her, so Negan found nothing. 

“Fine. You may speak.”

“What’s the search about? With all due respect, but don’t you people have nothing better to do? It’s, like, three or four days since the last search. This disrupts our lives and in no way increases the amount of stuff we can deliver. We meet your requirements every single pick-up, so what the hell is this?”

Rick was surprised Michonne got to deliver her frustrated little speech without interruptions. 

Negan’s frosty gaze moved in slow waves back and forth between Rick, Michonne and Carl. When he started to talk, the tone was calm and conversational. His words, however...

“I’ve just about had it with you people. Sometimes, like right now, I’ve just about had it with _my_ people as well. Don’t rightly know what the fuck to do about it, though. I’ve got several fuckin’ excellent ideas, few of which might even leave some of you alive. Or not. The number of people I’m starting to think need saving is dwindling every. fuckin’. second.” 

The usual smirks were still a no-show, and Rick hadn’t thought he’d ever miss them but this, this was even creepier.

Negan swung the bat on his shoulder and let his eyes roam on the houses, the trees, on some of the braver Alexandrians that were drawing near in horrified fascination, wanting to know what the Saviors wanted this time.

“Some of my men have started to show the kind of goddamn initiative I really can’t appreciate. And what your people, Rick, are doing… fuck. I sure hope you got nothing to do with that.” He waved his hand at Rick’s questioning eyebrow. “Oh, I’m very sure that once again you have no fuckin’ idea what I’m talkin’ about. You’ll find out soon enough. What I’m thinking, though, is that it might be time to teach you a li’l lesson. Just in case you fucks have forgotten the ones you’ve received. The one in the clearing, remember? At the start of our relationship, y’know. You know what the secret to a successful marriage is, Rick? It’s that you remember what made you fall in love with them. Well, I’m thinkin’ it’s fuckin’ time you guys remember what made you fall in fear with me.”

The warm jacket Rick was wearing didn’t shelter him from the coldness within. This wasn’t going to end well. He gave a surreptitious glance to the Alexandrians, wishing for once the townspeople were less brave and nosy and had just stayed at home and waited this out. He had a horrible feeling-

“Laura, fetch me that blond li’l shit,” Negan snapped, and pointed at someone at the back of a group to the right of Rick. He didn’t dare to turn his head to see who it was. But he heard the angry, frightened cries as Laura and a couple of her fighters put their hands on the man and started to drag him forward.

_Oh Jesus Christ, oh no, no, not…_

“Negan, what the hell!” he shouted, infuriated. “We’ve done nothing to deserve this! We’ve caused no trouble to you, every pick-up has been full, what else do you want from us!”

“Blood.”


	10. Point of no return

_-Rick-_

The Saviors had left, the gate closed behind them, the sound of their cars faded. In his head, it was nice and quiet. Just the hum of the blood in his veins. Just the thump of his heart.

But outside… there were screams. And curses. And angry yells.

Rick’s eyes focused again. He sat sprawled on the ground, thrown there on his ass, not by Saviors but by Michonne. Could’ve been worse, he thought. Could’ve been shot down. It’d been a close call, anyway, the guns of at least a dozen fighters had already been on him as he’d charged at Negan, crazy and unthinking, but Michonne had yanked him back, swiped his feet from under him with one decisive sweep and completed the task with a push which had all her not inconsiderable muscle behind it. When he went down like a log, he’d caught a glimpse of Negan’s smirky glance as the man had raised the bat.

He’d tried to scramble up but then it’d been Carl, draping his arms over Rick, keeping him down, repeating like a stuck record “You can’t do nothing, you can’t do nothing…”

The crying. Rick stood up, and his feet weighed a ton as he walked over to the forlorn little group, on the ground on their knees, crying, crying…

_Another one dead because of him._

And Rick wasn’t sure who was the _him_ in that thought. Negan? Or was it Rick? Rick with yet another one of his reckless plans, endangering his people for some great master plan. If they’d just laid low, all of them… never annoying the Saviors, Maggie quiet as a mouse at Hilltop, staying out of Gregory’s line of sight… But no, he always had to have his plans, didn’t he? He was the fucking rebel leader, and look what had happened.

Aaron must have heard his steps closing in. The man turned to look at him, face wet with tears, eyes so full of moisture Rick didn’t know if the man even saw anything through that haze. His hands were red with blood, his clothes a mess of blood and bone and brain. He laid what was left of Eric’s head and upper body gently down on the ground, breathed several times to calm himself down, and the sound that came out was not the friendly baritone Rick was used to hearing. This voice was death. This voice was the icy wind on a lifeless, wintry tundra.

“You said it’s a go the second the Saviors leave. Can I just…” The voice almost gave out. “Can I just bury him first? Then I’ll be on my way.”

“Aaron…” He stopped to clear his throat. “We will bury him together.” _What was there to say other than that? I’m sorry? I’m so fucking sorry for your loss?_

Tara and Sasha had been kneeling by Eric, Sasha’s eyes pools of blind numbness; Rick wagered she didn’t so much see the mutilated Eric than the mangled Abe. They rose up slowly, painfully, and offered their hands to Aaron. The man didn’t accept the help -- didn’t push them away exactly, just seemed to need to do this himself. Rick got it. The shell protecting Aaron’s sanity right now was brittle like a paper-thin layer of ice on water, and a touch -- even a gentle one -- might shatter it.

Aaron hovered over Eric’s body, hesitation apparent on his devastated face. Tara brushed his arm.

“We’ll take care of him. You...the graveyard…” She didn’t have to spell it out. A grave needed to be dug.

It took an hour to get everything in order. Rick had sent Carl to fetch Daryl and Jesus -- the way things were now, it hardly mattered that everyone would see them. In another few hours, they’d all be on their way, and Rick had enough reliable people to oversee the rest of the Alexandrians for the few days it would take before everything was over and done with, whichever way it would end up going. Nobody could slip out to warn Negan, and after what had just happened, Rick highly doubted anyone would even try. The reality of Negan’s rule had been thrown at them once again, and the grim faces gathering to the graveyard told him that his people had had enough. 

He sensed a familiar presence by his shoulder. He looked at the hunter. Daryl’s face was closed, a muscle at the corner of his eye rippled in a nervous tic. Rick stepped even closer and cautiously reached for his hand, sending a pre-emptive _Fuck you!_ to anyone who’d be bothered by the touch. Daryl’s fingers were curled in a tight fist, and it took a few seconds for the tense archer to yield to Rick’s caress. 

“I just wish we could kill Negan more than once,” Daryl rumbled low. His eyes were on Aaron. The man stood by the open grave and stared at the body of his partner, his spouse, shrouded in a sheet. 

Gabe said a few words, and Aaron tried to but couldn’t, his voice broke down and he dropped on his knees and started pushing the dirt back in the grave with his bare hands, tears pouring down his face. For a while, the others did nothing -- then Tara stepped forward, put her palms together to form a bowl, and picked up handfuls of dirt and dropped them into the grave. Sasha followed her, then Jesus, Michonne, Carl… Daryl untangled his fingers from Rick’s and both men went to do their part. 

A silent stream of Alexandrians filled the shallow grave of the kind, good-humored, brave man, and Rick’s last, grim thought was that these people would not _ever_ betray each other to Negan. This one kill on top of all the other deaths, on top of severe injustices and petty humiliations, had been the last straw. He saw tears in the eyes of people who’d never even been close to Aaron and Eric; some of those people probably had still harbored old, tired prejudices against the couple, but it was all gone now. Since nobody seemed to be safe, why even bother to try to live by the Savior rule? None of them had absolutely nothing to lose anymore.

He saw it clearly on their faces -- like thought bubbles in a comic strip: _“Enough is enough. Enough is_ **_enough!_** _”_

_-Daryl-_

Sasha left right after the funeral, leading her team of twelve fighters to the farthest Savior outpost, the 48-hour-clock starting to tick the moment the gate closed behind them. He saw how the funeral had dropped her back to the clearing. He hadn’t seen Eric’s body but then, he’d go to his own grave with the images of the broken bodies of Glenn and Abe fluttering in front of his eyes, so he could imagine Eric well enough. He didn’t want to think how it had felt for Sasha to witness Lucille in action, again. He was just grateful Rosita had left during the night and missed the re-enactment.

He swallowed down tears. Those two, Aaron and Eric, they’d been the first Alexandrians to be kind to him. They’d been the first to truly treat him as one of them, one of the Alexandrians. 

And who the fuck knew what else, really… aren’t gays supposed to have the gaydar-spidey-sense-thingy..? So maybe they’d known he was one of Them even though Daryl had done the best he could to not delve on that side of himself. He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He’d cared for Eric, though, and Aaron had become a Friend, almost Family, so-

He swallowed down another batch of tears.

_Thank you, Negan_ , he thought. _Thank you for makin’ our job easier. Destroying Hilltop, killing all those people, coming here to summarily butcher one of the nicest persons -- really, that was the best EVER recruitment act for the resistance. You really signed your own death warrant now, and I wonder...I bet ya don’t even realize it._

_I bet ya think ya just reminded us of our rightful place. I bet ya think ya simply put the fear of God in us._

_Buddy, ya just unleashed the wrath of the Titans on yerself._

*

Rick stayed by his side as they walked back to their house. Jesus remained at the graveyard, waiting for Aaron. “I’ll take care of him, we’ll be at the house soon. Let him have a minute in peace here, ok?” he’d whispered to Rick.

“How d’you feel about this?” Rick asked when they’d finally reached the house and sat down on the porch stairs.

“Like shit. I feel like killin’ people. That what ya wanted to hear?” Daryl mumbled, watching the Alexandrians quietly drifting back to their homes. Unlike on a normal day, nobody seemed eager to stay on the streets chatting.

“Hmmhm,” Rick grunted.

“An’ dontcha think I don’t know about the way ya almost got yerself killed,” Daryl went on, voice harsh. “Tryin’ to get between Negan an’ Lucille an’ their target...”

“Yeah, well…” Rick tried but Daryl knew. He knew from bitter experience it could be pretty damn hard to remain in total control of yourself when facing the unpredictable reign of terror à la Negan.

The men went silent, watching the streets, and Daryl willed his heart to beat more steadily. He heard it thrumming like a set of muffled kettledrums, and he was out of breath for some reason, and then his fingertips tingled unpleasantly, and _fuck goddamnit FUCK this ain’t the time to have a fuckin’ panic attack no no NO they were gone fuck NO goddamn this SHIT!_

Rick’s arm wound around his shoulder. “You ok, honey?”

Daryl exhaled slowly, concentrating on the feel of air passing over his lips. 

“Ain’t better or worse than anyone else here. Ain’t my husband lying dead in a hole in the ground. I’ll be fine. Just...feel bad about Aaron.”

Rick squeezed his shoulder. “I know you do. We all do. But I know it’s not all...but if you don’t wanna talk about it, that’s ok. We still have a few hours before we gotta start getting ready to leave. Can I just hold you like this?”

“Don’t need no coddlin’, Rick…”

“But what if I do?” Rick shot back, and Daryl had to admit he hadn’t thought about it like that. He should have. He wasn’t the only one with nightmares, or things to regret, or people to mourn. 

It was weird to be held like this, for all the world to see. He reminded himself once again that Dixons weren’t chicken, so he leaned against Rick, let himself relax into his lover’s touch just a little bit, and a shy hand crept around Rick’s waist. 

Carl passed them by, gave them a wan, sad smile, and went inside. A few minutes later, Aaron and Jesus came into view, slowly making their way towards Rick’s house. The men were almost at the gate when Rick seemed to think it might be in poor taste to flaunt that his boyfriend was still alive and well, and his arm dropped down from Daryl’s shoulder.

Aaron might’ve been grieving but he hadn’t become stupid in the process. There was a barely perceptible curve of lips, a ghost of a smile, as he looked at the two men.

“Y’know Rick, you an’ Daryl can hug all you want. It doesn’t take anything away from me. Love is good. Love is…” He tried to be brave, obviously, but words choked in his throat. 

Jesus cast a concerned look at the other man and his hand twitched, he almost touched Aaron’s arm but drew it back at the last moment. Daryl figured Aaron was in the headspace where the tiniest thing could break the surface tension, make him crumble into dust like a lump of dry mud. Daryl knew that place. It wasn’t a good place to be.

Daryl’s heart filled with compassion and vengefulness, and they fought for space, and it felt weird and wrong and he just wanted this to be _over_ … Aaron was his friend and he’d been so happy with Eric, and wasn’t it enough the world had gone to shit ‘cause of the dead -- did the living really have to make everything worse? 

Rick tilted his head at Aaron. “You sure you can do this?” he asked bluntly. “You sure you can rein in the anger and the grief, and concentrate on the task? If we had more people I could truly trust to handle this, I’d replace you in a heartbeat but it is what it is, and we’re counting on you. If you have any doubts, now’s the time to say something. You can’t be blinded by your feelings on this, or your team’s as good as dead.”

Aaron didn’t even wince at Rick’s harsh words. “It’s good that I’ve got this mission. Can’t wallow in my loss. Won’t have time to, to...to think of Eric. I won’t let you down, Rick. I won’t let _us_ down. Besides,” he cast a feeble smile at Jesus’s direction, “I’ve got Jesus in my team. What could go wrong with heaven’s help?”

“Yeah, never heard _that_ one before,” muttered Jesus and squeezed Aaron’s shoulder, acknowledging the attempt at humor.

Daryl drew himself up and stretched. Good Lord he was stiff. Apparently several weeks cooped up in a fuckin’ cave could do that to a person, nevermind the occasional jogging. 

“Fine,” he said. “Ya better get goin’ then. Jesus ain’t at one hundred percent, he better save the runnin’ til the attack. An’ ya gotta have some time to spare if ya need to search for the Hilltop folk. Maybe they’re back there, maybe they’re not -- ya gotta be prepared. Shoo, go, we’ll meet at the Sanctuary. Ya better be there, y’all make me very unhappy if ya get yerself killed on this. Don’t wanna lose more friends, d’ya hear?”

His voice got gruffer by the word. Rick seemed to sense how awkward Daryl felt, letting his feelings out even a little, and took over.

“What he said. Take care of each other, and meet us at the Sanctuary.”

Later, when Daryl had packed his stuff and they sat on the porch waiting for Carl, he huffed a humorless chuckle.

“What?” Rick was neck-deep in his backpack, checking his gear for the hundredth time. The compulsive checking was the only hint the stone-faced leader gave out that he was human, too, and nervous about the mission.

“Ya never got that chance to talk about the scale of penalties an’ all that.”

“Jesus fuck…” Rick straightened his back in slow motion, stared at nothing, ran his fingers through his curls. “Though I gotta say-”

“-it wouldn’t have mattered much,” Daryl ended his sentence. 

“After Hilltop...Enid… After Eric… yeah. Talking about mercy wouldn’t have made any difference. I gotta trust our people. They ain’t exterminators. I gotta trust they won’t… that they won’t kill just for the hell of it.”

Carl came out of the house with his gear, face haggard but with just a little bit of life in his eyes. “We goin’?”

They walked towards the main gate. “We’re meeting the others there. Tara an’ Michonne, too.”

“When are they leavin’?”

“Tomorrow, before noon. There’s an uncomfortable 24 hours that Alexandria is suspiciously empty -- we just have got to trust in Gabe’s ability to bullshit if any Saviors come this way. The way things are, I think they’ve got enough on their plate without running between Sanctuary and this place every day… I don’t believe Negan was very happy with Simon, and there might be some turmoil going on. At least I hope so…”

“I hope he killed Simon,” Daryl said in a vicious growl. “One less Savior to waste bullets on…”

“I wouldn’t mind wasting one of mine on him.” Carl’s low voice startled them; they’d forgotten the teenager was walking right behind them. The boy caught them up and wedged himself between them. 

Daryl bit his lip. How’s he gonna fix this fuckup?

“Carl...don’t follow my lead on this, ok… ya gotta have your head screwed on right when we go after them. Ya got revenge on your sight, it’s gonna mess with your aim, y’know what I’m sayin’? I ain’t gonna let ya take stupid risks just to get to Simon, d’ya hear?”

Carl stared straight ahead with a stubborn gleam in his eyes. “So what you’re sayin’ is it’s ok for you to risk getting yourself killed for revenge but less ok if I do that? Dad, you agree with him?”

Rick sighed and slowed down his steps. “Carl, that’s not what Daryl meant an’ you know it. Don’t try to twist this around. You want to seethe and plan a dozen ways to gut the Saviors -- fine. You do that. But by the time we get to the outpost and then Sanctuary, you’ve got to have let all that go. You’ve got to let go of anger. You remember what Michonne said? ‘Anger makes you stupid. Stupid gets you killed.’ We have quite enough of dead people already, I’d prefer you weren’t one of them. I know you’re angry ‘cause of Enid. But does getting yourself killed help her? Does it help us?”

Rick held his son’s gaze until the two of them seemed to come to some sort of an understanding. Daryl was relieved, this shit with explanations wasn’t his thing. He felt bad for the boy, though. The power of anger and revenge was a formidable source of comfort sometimes. He got it that Carl didn’t want to let go of it. He knew the feeling. The fear that without the wrath he’d got nothing at all to keep him goin’. 

At the gate they were met by a dozen men and women, armed to the teeth, tight-lipped and grim, but with the kind of dull determination in their eyes which convinced Daryl these people wouldn’t back down. Blood had been spilt on the Alexandria soil, and it was written all over their faces that this had been the last time.

Tara and Michonne drew Rick and Daryl aside. 

“Any last minute advice?” Tara gave a weak smile.

Daryl snorted. “Yeah. Take ‘em down an’ don’t get killed in the process.”

Even Michonne sounded tense. “Gotta say, I’m not comfortable with the teamleader changes.” She raised her hand at Rick; the man had been about to say something. “No need, Rick. It is what it is. We planned for everything except for the attack on Hilltop, losing Maggie God knows where, and having to send off Rosita. We’ll manage. I’m just glad we drilled all the layouts and plans together, not just one team per target. Don’t know what gave you the idea at the time, I thought it was crazy waste of mental energy, but-”

“It was Daryl’s idea,” Rick grunted.

The hunter shifted, awkward with the attention as well as being outdoors. He wanted to get going, he wanted to shake off the last of the Sanctuary cell and the weeks underground. He wanted to be himself again.

Tara jolted him back to the real world by making her trademark hug-attack. She squeezed all the air out of his lungs, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and whispered to his ear, “You both come back alive, d’you hear?” 

Michonne smiled at them. It was worried and pinched, but it was warm, and Daryl hoped things might be back to normal between them.

Barbara had brought Judith, and Carl had commandeered his baby sister immediately. Rick walked to them, and the little girl gave him a bright smile when he took her in his arms. He explained that daddy had some work to do and he’d be back in a few days. Judith accepted the words with a nod -- she’d become used to daddy not always being close by. She’d also become used to daddy always coming back, and it was clearly written on the leader’s face that he hoped with all his heart he’d be able to keep his promise this time as well.

Judith wriggled. “Unca Da-yl!” she squeaked and extended her arms towards the hunter who was standing a little ways off, to give Rick and his kids some privacy. But it seemed Judith was havin’ none of that. A smile tugged his lips as Rick handed him the giggling toddler. 

“Hi, Li’l Asskicker,” he murmured. “I’m gonna go with your daddy. ‘m gonna take care of him an’ your big brother.”

Judith paused, she’d been fiddling with the crossbow sling. She drew herself back and looked at Daryl with a thoughtful expression on her small face. “Help daddy?” she asked, and tilted her head. She looked so much like Rick it made his heart ache. Though where she’d learned that challenging way to narrow her eyes, he had no idea. 

“Yeah, ‘m gonna help your daddy,” he replied with a soft voice, and the little girl rewarded him with a kiss on his cheek. 

Gabe strolled to see them off as well. He didn’t waste his breath on meaningless prayers, thank fuck -- Daryl had lost his faith long ago. Early on in the apocalypse he’d learned that no, J.C. wasn’t takin’ requests, so the last of whatever little faith he’d had, had dried up. But he didn’t object to the faith of others. Hey, whatever got you through the night, right? So when Gabe nodded at them, face all solemn and serious, and said, “Godspeed,” Daryl just nodded back. 

Rick rallied his group, the gates opened, and the small bunch of people marched out. The gates closed behind them with a dull thud. Rick glanced at him, at Carl, turned to look at his group behind him. They met his gaze; no-one said anything. Nothing to say now. 

Daryl cast his mind back, decades and decades, back to a high school history lesson, one of the classes he’d actually liked attending if the bruises on his face weren’t too noticeable or if Merle hadn’t dragged him along to some idiotic trouble or if he wasn’t hunting to have something to eat. He’d sprawled on his seat, his eyes on the wide outdoors through the window, and he’d listened to the young substitute teacher recount the story of Julius Caesar.

Yeah. This felt like crossing the frickin’ Rubicon.


	11. Chance encounters, careful considerations

_-Maggie & Rosita- _

Her sides hurt. She’d run for what felt like days -- or ten hours, to be exact, when she managed to cast an exhausted look at her watch. She hadn’t had time to pack decent gear -- she’d barely had time to throw on her clothes, stuff a few bottles of water in a bag and snatch her guns. She still didn’t understand what weird unearthly premonition had woken her up at dawn and led her to the ‘secret’ place she liked to hide in -- hide in plain sight, really, sitting on the roof of the Barrington House, by the dainty little tower. She felt at peace there, distant from all the bickering and the plotting and the decision-making (she had to admit she now understood much better why Rick at times had been short-tempered and why he had all those lines on his face -- leadership was a bitch). She was also closer to heaven, sitting there, and she liked to think she was closer to Glenn that way. Not that she was much of a believer in heaven or hell, but if there was such a thing as heaven, Glenn was sure to have a place there. That she believed in with all her soul.

So, she’d climbed the stairs still in her pajamas and crawled out of the tower window and sat there enjoying the wide vistas over the roads and woods and fields surrounding Hilltop. Lost in thought, she enjoyed the pale light of the sun creeping over the horizon, and it took her a full minute until she registered the anomaly. Pillows of dust were puffing over the trees, advancing towards Hilltop, and if she strained her ears she could almost hear the purr of several motors.

Could be nothing -- could be a visit from Alexandria. But why would they be here at this hour? And that was not a dust cloud from a single car. But the next pick-up wasn’t until the day after tomorrow. Maggie’s skin prickled. She crept back inside, half-jogged to her room and got dressed, threw some water bottles and ammo in her bag, grabbed her guns and jogged back up. There were definitely cars, and they were a lot closer.

She wasn’t prone to premonitions but now, she had an overpowering need to _flee_. She decided to go with her instincts. If they were wrong and it was nothing worse than a visit from Alexandria or a petty early pick-up, well then, she’d just return when the time was right. She ran downstairs with light feet, careful not to make any noise. She stopped for a split second behind Jesus’s door and contemplated waking him up to alert him of the coming cars and letting him know she’d play this one extra safe, but she figured she had only a couple of minutes left until the cars were at the gate so she had no time to waste. She ran out from the backdoor and to the box masquerading as storage for firewood but actually serving as a door to a tunnel leading out of Hilltop. 

She shuffled through to the other side, slunk behind the treeline and turned to watch what was happening. Half a dozen pick-ups stopped at the gate and were let inside. For five minutes, there was nothing much, and Maggie was starting to think she’d been too hasty.

But then she heard shouts, arguments, angry voices. She couldn’t make out any words; she sat down on the dry ground to wait it out. She took a sip of water and rummaged in her bag but no luck, not even a half-eaten carrot to be found. So, no breakfast. _Sorry about that, little one_ , she thought, and pat on her gently bulging stomach. She leaned on a tree and settled down to wait. If the Saviors had come to vent their frustration on whatever was on their tiny sadistic minds, it was good she had got out in time. Her presence was a risk to the whole Hilltop community as it was. Other than that, she wasn’t seriously worried, she knew Saviors needed Hilltop for the food. They’d rant and rave, they’d beat people up, but for the most part, that’d always been the extent of it.

She watched the sun creep higher -- it must’ve taken half an hour already and the Saviors still hadn’t left. Then something must’ve gone to hell: the shouts became screams became gunshots. Maggie froze, felt her heart rate go up. The shots kept coming, the screams got more frantic. It went on an’ on an’ on, and still she sat on the ground, frozen on the spot. 

Then she snapped out of it, scrambled up, grabbed his bag and guns and withdrew deeper into the woods. After she’d jogged for a few minutes, she came to a stop. She had to figure out a plan. Not a good idea to go back -- that hadn’t been a run-of-the-mill Savior show of force, no, something must’ve gone terribly wrong, and going back would only make it worse. She toyed with the idea of heading to Alexandria; she’d almost thought her heart had died with Glenn, it had been so many months since she’d last really felt anything except hate and anger and overwhelming sadness, but now she felt a resounding pang of longing for her old friends. Rick, Rosita, Daryl, Carl, Li’l Asskicker…

But she couldn’t go there. The Saviors had been out for blood, obviously, and the likelihood of Alexandria being their next stop was too great. Especially if -- she cringed at the thought but it was a distinct possibility like it had been all these months -- they had found out she was still alive. Maybe they’d found out she’d been staying at Hilltop. If so, they’d all but certainly think she’d aim straight for her home. So no, that wasn’t an option. She couldn’t risk being found there. If she stayed away, Rick and the others would be genuinely surprised for any accusations of hiding her there, so maybe, just maybe, they would have that going for them.

Where, then? The Kingdom? Wouldn’t be ideal. The King wouldn’t be happy to accept a fugitive from Negan. But maybe Negan wouldn’t think to go there? Those people had always bent the knee more willingly than the two other communities. Maybe Ezekiel would grant her some help at least. Food, some place to lay low for a while. She knew that as long as Rick was breathing, they’d go forward with the plan, so she just needed a place for a week, or a month. Goddamnit, what she wouldn’t give for a working cell phone right now! She had no way of keeping tabs on what was going on or how Rick would react. She wondered how long it would take for them to find out about Hilltop. Could the Saviors have killed off everyone? Would the first they’d hear of it be from Negan’s smirking lips?

She checked the sun and started to head North-East. It was five hours on horseback using the roads; it would take her the whole fuckin’ day to get there by foot through the woods and fields. And she had no food. Shit. Fuck. Fuck!

*

So, ten hours later, she was aching and thirsty and hungry and in a truly foul mood. The woods were thinning out and she saw a small cottage with a thin trail of smoke coming out of the chimney. The fatigue fell off her mind and limbs, she checked her gun and pricked her ears. She padded as silently as she could to the side of the house and peeked in. Nobody there. She circled the corner and checked the back of the house, again peeked through the windows. Still no-one in sight. She sneaked towards the front corner, poked her head cautiously around it, and found herself staring down the barrel of a shotgun. 

“Maggie? I’ll be damned… Y’know, I’m not coming back, so if that’s why you-”

Maggie almost collapsed from sheer relief. Even the unwelcoming look on Carol’s face couldn’t banish the feeling that everything would be ok now that she was with her. The woman was a SWAT team all by her lonesome.

“No,” she cut in. “No, I didn’t come looking for you but fuck, am I glad to see you.”

Only then, Carol seemed to register the shape Maggie was in. The tired eyes, face lined with dirt, and…

“Where’s Glenn? You don’t mean he’s let you go out on your own in your condition?” She peered over the corner. “Where’re the others?”

Maggie’s strength gave out, the question was the last straw, and she leaned hard against the wall. She couldn’t get a word out. Of course. Carol didn’t know. 

The older woman took in Maggie’s reaction and her eyes grew sharp.

“What’s goin’ on, Maggie?” 

*

Rosita ran.

Her anger simmered deep, kept fueling her, from one month to another. Less obvious than with Sasha -- Sasha with her dead eyes and the lips that never curled into a smile anymore. No, everyone could see how Sasha had shrivelled into a machine with just one target: to destroy Negan.

Rosita still smiled -- even though that smile sometimes seemed to trigger a shiver in people. Her eyes weren’t dead -- they sparked like flint. But she walked and talked and ate and drew energy from the family she still had left. She was efficient that way -- she had coping mechanisms. Like visiting Daryl in his cave almost daily, whenever she wasn’t on a run, hunting stuff to give to the Saviors. Stuff to _keep_ from the Saviors, stuff to ensure their downfall.

The anger kept her going, crackled energy to her mind and limbs -- a restless, relentless source of power.

And now this. She’d listened to Jesus’s story and bit down so hard she thought she must’ve cracked a tooth. Where the fuck was Maggie? Enid dead, all those people dead, Hilltop burning?

Rosita ran.

She didn’t bother wailing ‘oh-where-would-this-end’, because she knew perfectly well. It would end with Negan’s death. And to that end…

...Rosita ran. For hours, in the dark woods, skirting open, moonlit fields, ears pricked for Saviors, for walkers. She had to get to the Kingdom as soon as possible. If there was even a faint hope the King would finally see the light and join them, she’d have to get them moving, there wasn’t a minute to spare.

During the early hours of the morning, she passed Hilltop from the south, gave it a wide berth, and stopped for a brief rest and a snack sometime before noon. She dodged a few Savior groups a few hours later, and killed three walkers just to get it off her system. She would’ve wanted to kill those Saviors, too, but all in good time. She couldn’t risk getting hurt, getting slowed down. First things first. There’d be plenty of Saviors left for her to kill, later.

Late afternoon, she saw a cottage. It looked lived in, well taken care of. There was no sound, and she wondered if anyone was at home, and if yes, whether she’d have to take them down. She circled the house, peeked in through windows, saw signs that someone was indeed living there -- a rumpled blanket on a bed, an open book, face down on a small table by an armchair, a vase with flowers, two mugs on the dining table. But the house was empty, so Rosita shrugged and kept on running.

She arrived at the gates of the Kingdom when the sun was still up. Sasha should’ve been gone by noon, she thought, her mind just a bit foggy already, and she knew she needed rest, badly, to be able to function efficiently. It’d been a long damn day. But she couldn’t stop to think about how much time they might have until the timer on Rick’s attack clock dinged.

Guards at the gate stopped her. 

“Do I know you, lady?” one of them asked. 

Rosita flashed a wolfish smile at the man. The smile crinkled the scar on her face and made her look downright scary. “Dunno. Do ya?”

She was glad to notice this didn’t faze the guard. Skittish fighters would be of no use to them.

The man lifted an amused eyebrow.

“A lady with a sense of humor. I’m Daniel, and that’s Dianne,” he nodded towards the other guard. The silence that followed was expectant. When seconds had ticked away, the man snorted.

“This would be where you tell us who you are and why we would think it’d be a good idea to let you in.”

“Well, you didn’t ask.” Rosita didn’t know why she wasted precious minutes to this. Maybe it was simply the unexpected levity of this young man that let her succumb for a second to something other than anger, revenge, death. She shrugged the worthless mirth off.

“I’m Rosita. I’m from Alexandria, and I have a message to your King from our leader.”

The guards glanced at each other, wordless messages flitted between them, and Rosita frowned. But the guards stepped aside and pulled open the heavy gates. The young man had grown serious.

“Dianne will take you to him.” The way he snapped his mouth shut told her he wouldn’t answer any questions.

Dianne’s face didn’t let out a single thing. Rosita didn’t feel like idle chatting either, so the trek to the theater where the King held his court was a silent one.

The guard opened the door and pointed to the vestibule where a few guns and backpacks lied on the floor. 

“Leave your weapons,” she said curtly. Rosita shrugged and left everything except the short dagger she had strapped to her ankle under her heavy combat boots. She wasn’t here to harm the King, but she was no fool, either.

They entered the auditorium, dimly lit on the sides, bright lights on the stage where a man lounged on what seemed to be a throne. Rosita started to snort, but the sound froze as something padded from behind the throne.

A snigger escaped the stoic Dianne, and Rosita threw her a glance, desperate to hear she was simply seeing things. That it was a trick of some kind.

“Nah, it’s a tiger,” Dianne confirmed. “You ain’t crazy. It’s really there.”

“‘tis a magnificent creature, is it not?” the King boomed. “‘tis much like my Kingdom -- noble and beautiful.” The man stood up. “And dangerous, if treated wrong.” He stepped to the edge of the stage and looked at Rosita. She saw a dark, heavy-set man with thick dreadlocks and fierce eyes, and she didn’t feel like snorting any more. King Ezekiel had a commanding presence, nevermind the theatrics.

“Your Majesty, I present to you Rosita from Alexandria,” Dianne said with a respectful tone. “She brings a message from his leader.”

The King still had his piercing eyes on Rosita. She steeled herself; she had felt a moment’s temptation to _fidget_ , and that simply would not do.

“Well, Rosita from Alexandria. Please, let me hear this message. This leader of yours...Rick, is it?”

“Yes,” Rosita said. “Your Majesty,” she added, as she heard the low prompt from Dianne. “Our leader’s name is Rick. There has been an attack against Hilltop. The community is virtually decimated. And I do mean that literally: The Saviors declared they’d destroy a tenth of them. We lost good friends there. Simon didn’t care who he put down -- women, men, children. One of the Hilltop men, Jesus, escaped, just barely. He came to warn us, and Rick fears for the fate of Alexandria. I don’t know if you knew, but the one the Saviors called The Widow, she was hiding at Hilltop. The Saviors were after her, and when they didn’t find her, Simon went crazy. Your Majesty, she is pregnant. The Saviors did this when they couldn’t get their hands on a _pregnant woman_.”

The King was listening intently. Rosita drew a deep breath. She hoped she was being eloquent enough. This wasn’t where her best talent lied, but she’d listened to Rick enough times to have picked up a thing or two. 

“Rick asked me to come tell you this. We have heard that your community has remained in peace with the Saviors and that you are unwilling to join Hilltop and Alexandria in our effort to shed the Savior yoke.” Rosita was moderately satisfied with that turn of phrase. She was starting to get the hang of this. “But we fear that Negan has either lost his sanity or the control of his men. That kind of destruction… it is not according to Negan’s creed of ‘people are a resource’, now is it? And if that is true, then… is anyone safe? We beg of you, please reconsider your stance, Your Majesty.”

She didn’t know what else to say. The King still listened, his eyes were still just as piercing -- but his gaze had started drifting somewhere behind Rosita, and now she registered the sound of the door closing, the vibration of two sets of feet. The second it took her to turn around was the longest of her life. Would she see Negan, Dwight, Simon? Had they been here all along? Was it over before it’d even started? 

“He knows,” said a dry voice that Rosita would’ve recognized anywhere. “He knows he’s gotta reconsider. He’s just taking his sweet time doing so, even though we told him already he doesn’t have the luxury.”

The two women were close now, and Rosita felt a part of the heavy burden lift from her chest. Maggie -- alive and well. Carol -- with them again, like a godsend.

“My dear lady,” the King said with a low purr, not unlike the sound a tiger would make, “you wrong me. I have pondered on what you have told me. It is not by cowardice that the Kingdom has so long refrained from taking action against our oppressors. I have a duty to my people, the duty to keep them safe, away from harm’s way. However, the news you and Mrs Rhee have brought me, and the message Rosita from Alexandria has conveyed, has troubled me enough to shake the foundation of the belief I have held thus far. To steer clear from taking sides does not, alas!, seem like a viable course of action anymore. The argument on the side of neutrality and submission is wearing thin. A system that would decimate a community for sheltering a pregnant woman loses all its credibility. And I do concur, dear Rosita, with the estimate of your leader -- the Saviors will visit Alexandria next, and I fear they will not come bearing gifts.” 

The King beckoned them with a flamboyant gesture. “Come, we have much to discuss.”

The Alexandrians ascended the steps to the stage. Dianne hesitated, obviously uncertain if the gesture encompassed her as well. 

“I’d better return-”

“Please, do join us, Dianne. I would hear your opinion, too. This concerns us all. I am sure Daniel is able to manage the last twenty minutes of his shift by himself.”

Ezekiel and his tiger led them to the backstage where there was a sturdy cage for the animal. “Shiva will remain here. It is time to feed her soon -- a hungry tiger is not suitable company at a negotiation table.”

He locked Shiva in the cage. They walked out of a door into a corridor with an elegant staircase, up those stairs to the living quarters. Ezekiel gestured towards a large dining table and the women sat down. One of the King’s guards had followed them, and now Ezekiel addressed him.

“Please, get Jerry for me. I believe he is at home. It is unfortunate that I need to disrupt his day off, but this cannot wait.” When the guard had vanished down the stairs, the King sat down at the foot of the table and cast a heavy gaze on the four women.

“Now, we talk.”

_-Sasha-_

_For Abraham. For Glenn. For Enid. For every day Daryl had to suffer. For every blow, and humiliation, and needless uphill they’d been forced to climb because of the Saviors._

She checked her rifle one more time. Her hands patted over her pockets, the holsters strapped to her thighs. She couldn’t be more ready.

Her eyes brushed over her team. Grim mouths, determined grips on their weapons. They all looked at her. Expectant. Fighting against being nervous, and by the looks of them, winning that particular fight. All they had to do anymore was to win the actual fight they were here for.

Sasha drew a deep breath. She had a hard time understanding nerves these days. Seemed like Abe’s death had burnt out all the nerve endings. She felt more dead than alive, and had to put in a considerable amount of work to even remember other feelings besides vengefulness, anger, bone-deep sadness. Her brain worked like a computer, ignoring the withered remains of human emotions. 

Rick had hesitated, giving her this assignment. She knew that. She knew Rick feared her condition might put her team at risk. Make her a kamikaze leader somehow. He hadn’t had much choice, though -- she was efficient, she was skillful, she was one of their best.

Anyhow, he couldn’t have been more wrong. Everything that had happened had given her a heightened sense of the value of human life. Not her own -- she didn’t care if she lived or died on this mission, as long as they beat Negan. But the others… Everyone could be someone’s Abe or Glenn, Olivia or Denise. She wasn’t going to be the one to bring back bad news about the loved ones. She didn’t want to see the same look in anyone else’s eyes that she saw when she looked into a mirror. 

“It’s been 46 hours since we left Alexandria. We’ve gone through the plan enough times. You know where to go and what to do. We will meet here when it’s over. As you kill them, grab all the weapons and ammo you can carry, we’ll need it all at the Sanctuary. Remember, we don’t take prisoners. We can’t afford to leave anyone here to guard them, and we sure as hell don’t risk taking them with us. You have two hours to get to your places. Don’t fuck that up.”

She glanced a cold look at the outpost and turned back to her team. A few of them struggled to meet the ice of her eyes.

“Take them all down.” 

_-Aaron & Jesus- _

Jesus cast another worried look at his co-leader. Aaron hadn’t said anything for hours except the necessary, whispered commands when they happened to spot a group of Saviors or a batch of walkers. This time, however, Aaron caught him looking. 

“You don’t need to do that,” the man said with an even voice.

“Do what?”

“Peep at me like I’d blow up any minute.”

They’d been on the road for half a day and were still a few hours from Hilltop. They’d decided to stop for the night, otherwise they’d reach the community -- or what was left of it -- when it’d already be pitch-dark. They preferred to enter the area with daylight; what with the havoc Simon had wreaked, it might not be a safe place to be when you couldn’t see properly.

Jesus was sitting on a fallen tree trunk. He shifted and stretched his legs.

“Sorry. Just lookin’ out for you.”

Aaron let out a half-hearted chuckle and forced a lopsided smile on his face. He glanced at Jesus. 

“So basically, I’m half of my normal self because -- not gonna lie to you -- my soul was just ripped off of me. You’re half of your normal self ‘cause you fought your way out of Hilltop. What a pair we are. Maybe together we make one whole person.” 

Jesus’s lips curled upwards.

*

Hilltop was a bleak sight. Thin trails of smoke writhed in the lazy wind -- the mansion hadn’t been the only building Simon’s group had lit up. At first sight, it seemed like it was a ghost town. Little by little, however, they saw people moving around, comforting each other, trying to clean up, carrying forlorn broken bodies towards the small cemetery. The gate hung open, there were men hard at work fixing it. They eyed the newcomers with dull eyes.

The mansion looked like something out of a horror movie. It hadn’t burnt down, of course, it was a brick house. But Jesus suspected that there wasn’t much left except the husk. The windows stared at them, smashed to pieces by the fire that had raged inside of it. The trailers looked like they’d been used for target practice. Every wooden building lay in cinders. 

Aaron turned to their group. A few of them were former Hilltopians, relocated to Alexandria a few weeks ago. Aaron nodded to them, to the whole group. 

“Me and Jesus, we’ll try to find if there’s somebody in charge. We need to leave for the outpost tomorrow at first light. Until then… help these people.” 

Words choked in his throat. The devastation of Hilltop reminded him that he wasn’t the only one mourning. At least he still had a home, for now anyway. He ached for revenge. Not a second went by that the smiling face of Eric didn’t flicker in his eyes like a specter. He’d never thought of himself as a vengeful man but maybe the seed was within everyone, just waiting for something to summon it up. The pain was too fresh in his heart -- vaguely, he realized he should be horrified of his feelings. Revenge was… wasn’t healthy. He knew that somewhere at the back of his mind. Avenging for Eric wouldn’t bring his husband back. And yet…

He shook his head to clear his mind and looked around. Avenging for Hilltop wouldn’t bring the slaughtered people back. Vengeance wouldn’t rebuild a single cottage. It wouldn’t replant the mowed-down plants.

He heard steps approaching, felt Jesus’s hand on his shoulder. The other man said nothing, he simply was _there_. 

Aaron swallowed down tears. Not the time.

They’d settle the score. Their uprising would be a tide to sweep over the Saviors. But it couldn’t stop there. There’d be a crossroads and they’d have to choose. Revenge -- or rebuild? His battered heart wailed ‘Couldn’t you do both?’ but he knew the answer. Destroying the Saviors would destroy them as well -- there’d be no coming back from mass murder. No pretending to recreate a civilized society. No getting rid of the collective memory of extermination.

The Saviors, as an organization, would go down. Negan… he didn’t want to think of him, he couldn’t be rational about him, not yet, maybe not ever. But most of the others… wouldn’t forcing them to help rebuild be the best revenge of all?

He’d have to think about this. He turned to look at Jesus and met the calm, pale-blue eyes.

“Let’s go find who’s in charge. And then later, I got things I want to talk with you.” 

_-Tara & Michonne- _

“Someone’s coming!”

Michonne’s head snapped towards the guard platform. Tara’s mouth tightened to a grim line. Their group was ready to leave, in a minute they would’ve been out that gate. Armed to the teeth, ready for war in a way that wouldn’t have escaped any visiting Savior’s notice. ‘cause it had to be the Saviors. Who else could be coming? 

“Who is it?” she piped up, hoping against hope it would be someone else. They’d counted on the Saviors being too busy with internal squabbles and hunting Maggie to visit them every fuckin’ day. Though why this would go their way when pretty much nothing else did…

The guard’s baffled voice cut into her desperate thoughts.

“It ain’t Negan’s people.” 

Michonne jogged to the platform and climbed the ladder, swift and efficient. Tara craned her neck and watched the dark woman cast a suspicious eye over the wall. Michonne stood there for a moment, still and wary; then she peered over the platform railing, frowning at Tara.

“What?” hissed Tara, much too impatient to tolerate suspense-building pauses. This wasn’t a frickin’ Hitchcock thriller!

“Somebody with a white flag.” Michonne straightened her back and looked over the wall again, then she climbed down the ladder and strode to Tara.

“A young woman with a white flag,” she specified. “This is new.”

“We’re gonna open the gate?” Tara asked, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Jesus, it was embarrassing how jittery this whole attack-the-outposts crap made her, not to mention the flag-bearing strangers poppin’ up left an’ right…

“Yes. We’ll let her in and deal with this quickly. If we waste more than an hour, the schedule’s gonna be tight. Still, I’d rather get us out through that gate than take the whole group through the sewers. ‘m still thinking it’s a good idea to keep that route a secret for a while longer.”

Tara nodded. Being suspicious was second nature to them all these days. Especially seeing as one of them -- Alexandrians or Hilltopians -- had sold Maggie out. Even if it’d really been Gregory The Weasel, the man had still been one of them, so all bets were off, as far as Tara was concerned.

Michonne gestured an order to the group members. They sprinted behind the bend in the fence, and Michonne and Tara dropped their rifles under a thicket that sprouted around the platform. Just in case it was a Savior.

Tara drew a deep breath to calm herself, and they went to open the gate. A lone young woman stood behind it, the butt of the flag pole resting on the ground. For a while, the three women stared at each other in complete silence. Then Tara’s paralyzed vocal chords started to work again.

“Cyndie?” Tara could barely believe her eyes. “What the fuck are you doin’ here? I thought you people didn’t wanna have anything to do with us?”

Michonne turned her head to Tara, slowly, with a tilt which reminded Tara of Rick and gave her shivers. She was in so much trouble.

“Tara,” Michonne’s voice was dribbling with honey, and it almost made Tara turn tail and run, “you know this young lady -- and her... people?”

A low chuckle from the stranger interrupted Tara’s squirm and Michonne’s interrogation. 

“Seems you kept your word, Tara,” the woman -- _Cyndie_ , Michonne thought, frowning -- said in an amused voice. She seemed to have gotten over her astonishment much quicker than Tara. “Wanna introduce me to your friend?”

Tara swallowed and cast a worried look at the samurai woman who looked even more intimidating than usually. 

“Cyndie, this is Michonne. Michonne, that’s Cyndie from...from Oceanside.”

Michonne nailed her gaze on Cyndie like a pin on a butterfly. The brazen smile on the young woman’s lips faltered for a second.

“Oceanside?” The honeyed voice had a terrifying purr to it.

Tara cleared her throat and let out a shaky breath. “Michonne, I can explain… can we just let her in and have a talk? She’s harmless-”

“Harmless?!” Cyndie objected with a quick grin.

Tara shook her head. Jesus Christ, now wasn’t the time for jokes! She felt cold sweat on her neck. She’d rather be climbing the outpost walls and charging the place all by herself than explain the whole thing to Michonne. And as for facing Rick… She shuddered at the thought. 

“You know what I mean,” she hissed, and looked at Michonne. “Please, I swear, she’s a friend, and her people… not really sure but I don’t think they’d attack us. Let’s just talk, ok?”

Michonne’s cool gaze met Tara’s nervous eyes.

“Fine,” she said, and stepped aside, the gesture giving a silent invitation to Cyndie. “But you leave your weapons at the gate.”

Cyndie nodded. “Don’t have any. That’s the point of the white flag. I’m here to talk, nothing else.”

Tara went to close the gate; Michonne remained by Cyndie’s side, arms crossed. When Tara joined them, Michonne began.

“We can give you fifteen minutes. We have someplace to be an’ we can’t be late. You wanna talk, talk fast.” 

It was apparent that Cyndie hadn’t been prepared to meet someone like Michonne. She threw an uncertain glance at Tara who pulled herself together under the beseeching eyes.

“Look, Michonne, there’s no need to snap at her. Ain’t her fault you didn’t know about Oceanside. You can yell at me later. Oceanside is a community east of here, by the ocean like the name says. I stumbled on it a couple of months ago. I can tell you more later, on the way to, well, y’know. Anyhow, I promised to keep them a secret. They’d been hit hard by the Saviors and they wanted nothing to do with any other communities.” 

She paused to breathe. Michonne and that damn head tilt really got to her. “Obviously, something’s changed ‘cause Cyndie’s here now, so can we just-”

“Fine,” Michonne said again and targeted Cyndie with her gaze. “Sorry if I was short with you. We’ve got a situation here an’ it’s messin’ with my good manners.” Her voice had lost the uncanny, decidedly deadly sweetness, and was back to her normal businesslike tone. “You want the Saviors and the world in general to forget your existence. I get it. So what’re you doing here then?” 

Cyndie shrugged. “We changed our minds. Well,” she corrected, “not my grandma. But some of the others. A dozen of us slipped away a few weeks ago and tried to figure out where your place was. You never told us the name of your community which didn’t make the job any easier, let me tell you…”

Tara frowned. “But how did you know this was the right one then?”

“Oh, you mean the flag? That’s just… we were out of options. We met some bad people a couple of days ago and one of us got hurt. We did what we could but we think the wound got infected an’ she’s in a bad way. So when we noticed this place, we decided we don’t got a choice, we gotta take a chance. Hope for the best. Hope that there’s good people here.” She let out a small chuckle. “Imagine the surprise when it was you behind the gate.” 

“What do you want from us?” Michonne asked, impatient.

“Help for our friend, for starters. Co-operation, in general. That’s what we came for. We think… we want to believe that not all people who’re left are like the Saviors. Tara was nice, she seemed sincere, and we just… I mean, there’s no hope for Oceanside without other people. So we decided to risk it. We thought that if we find you an’ you’re good people, we can bring back a done deal and my grandma can’t just ignore it, and-”

“What can you offer in exchange for a deal?” interrupted Michonne.

“Well, co-operation works both ways,” the young woman answered, obviously confused, and Tara wondered whether the other woman was fast starting to realize that _imagining_ a negotiation wasn’t exactly the same as the _actual_ negotiation.

“And, and, there’s the sea, and we’re pretty good with boats and fishing these days…”

“You willing to fight side by side with us?” Again with the interruption.

“I-” Cyndie paused and bit her lip. She flicked her eyes to Tara, back to Michonne, and for the first time seemed to really register the tight lines around their eyes, the nervous energy that made Tara fidget, the almost unnatural stillness and focus of Michonne. “I’ve been here less than five minutes an’ we go from fish to fighting already? There’s something I should know before I answer?”

The two Alexandrians glanced at each other.

“We’re gonna take down the Saviors,” Tara said.

Cyndie gaped at them. “Oh… what... you’re gonna take them down just like that? No biggie?”

Michonne snorted at the incredulous tone of her voice. “Sure. Just like that. Snappin’ our fingers.” She glared back at the young woman. “Don’t try to be funny. We know what we’re doing. Ain’t ‘just like that’, ain’t a whim. Me and Tara, we’re leaving right now. You people want to show your worth, then come with us. Our people can take care of your wounded friend here -- hell, you can even leave a guy with her so nobody gets to feel lonely-”

“A gal. I’m thinking it’ll be a she,” muttered Tara, and Michonne cast a confused look at her. Tara went on. “It’s an all female community. Saviors killed off every male.”

“Jesus Christ…” Michonne strove to focus on the original subject but it was obvious she was shaken. “Well, a woman, then. Anyhow...we could use the help. I’m assuming at least some of your friends can fight?”

Tara snorted. “Oh dear god… take it from me, they can fight just fine.”

Cyndie still looked a bit dazed. “Sure… they fight, no problem. But… can I just talk with them first? Can I go get them? You have a doctor here?”

Amusement died on Tara’s face. “No we don’t,” she blurted. 

Michonne took over. “Unfortunately we don’t, not right now. But we’ve got some people who know what they’re doing, and they’ll do the best they can with your friend.”

Some fifteen minutes later a group of women of various ages entered Alexandria, casting wary looks at the people waiting for them. The middle-aged woman -- Lauren -- who was badly hurt was carried off to Denise’s old surgery, accompanied by a worried friend. The rest of the group remained close to the gate in a feverish discussion. Michonne and Tara waited at a discreet distance.

“Michonne…” Tara tried, but the other woman was having none of it.

“This better end well,” she growled quietly. “If we’d known about them months ago, we could’ve negotiated with them this whole time. If this attack goes sideways...I’m not saying I’d claim it’d be your fault but then again, I might. _Rick_ might. We could’ve had the whole Oceanside community on our side. Now, at best, we have ten extra fighters. Any which way this goes, you have a lot of explaining to do. But not now. I don’t have the patience for your explanations. You just make sure those women come with us.” She checked her watch. “We leave in ten minutes.”

Tara sighed to herself. A pissed-off Michonne wasn’t any fun. She shuddered to think of an enraged Rick. A disappointed Daryl. A stone-faced Rosita.

And they would be right. She’d kept her word -- to a bunch of strangers. She’d kept a secret -- from her family, from her leader, from her friends. 

She walked over to Cyndie’s group and heard Michonne’s quiet steps behind her. The Oceansiders turned their heads and stared at them, the discussion dwindling.

Tara straightened her shoulders. Fuck everyone! Maybe she’d made a mistake but now wasn’t the time to grovel. She had a job to do, they both did. The other teams were counting on them to do their part. If they could pull this off… well, ten extra fighters wouldn’t be _nothing_. It might just make a difference.

“Well?” she asked, brisk and no-nonsense. 

“You people got an actual plan?” A short-haired woman shot out a question. Tara racked her mind -- dark hair, lean unfriendly face… oh yes.

“Beatrice?” she ventured. Cyndie hid a smile and nodded at her. Tara went on. “Yeah we have a plan. Ain’t none of us suicidal, y’know. We’ve planned for this for weeks. Made preparations. Schedules. It’ll be a coordinated attack. Everything’s in motion already, all the other groups have left, we’re the last ones. I ain’t gonna swear it’s gonna go our way but it won’t be for lack of planning, that’s for sure. Ain’t gonna be for lack of skill or spirit, either. I’m thinking, we got a fair chance, but we gotta give it all we got. Negan’s not gonna fall otherwise. So we’d appreciate your help. An’ when this is over, we can talk all you want. Rick -- he’s the boss around here -- he’ll welcome you with open arms. But we gotta get rid of the Saviors first…”

“I’m in,” grunted one of the woman. She had a fierce glint in her eyes. “They murdered my husband, my son. Hell yeah, I wanna help you. Let’s go get ‘em all.”

Michonne’s gaze made the woman squirm. “This won’t be about payback. You go in with nothin’ but revenge on your mind, you get yourself killed, and what’s worse,” she said, voice flat and impassive, “you get _us_ killed. We need to keep it cool. This is a, a…” Michonne searched for a word, nodded to herself, “a _surgical_ strike. We remove a threat, nothing more. I mean it: nothing more. They ain’t all fighters in those outposts, and when we get to the Sanctuary… we need to be able to live with ourselves after it’s over. There’s children in there. Ordinary folk. Prisoners. Our _friend_ was a prisoner there, he had to serve Negan, for fuck’s sake -- what, you would’ve butchered him as well, just for _being_ there? Guilty by association?”

Tara was surprised. They hadn’t discussed any of this. She hadn’t thought about it like that. She should’ve. Daryl hadn’t opened up about his stay at the Sanctuary, not much anyway, but he had mentioned the people who’d worked there. Who’d earned ‘points’. Who hadn’t looked too happy about it. He hadn’t been able to socialize much -- Negan hadn’t wanted him to, Daryl hadn’t been _Negan_ after all, so he’d had no rights whatsoever -- but it had been there, in the sounds and in the air itself. The rules, the obedience. The suffocating _security_ of it all.

She’d have to think about this on the way.

WWDD. _What would Denise do?_


	12. Merger of equals

_-Rick-_

They traveled in silence. The pace was fast, and the gravity of the situation kept everyone firmly in the company of their own somber thoughts. They camped at sundown -- they’d covered two thirds of the distance, they’d kept the planned schedule, so they deserved a night’s rest. The next day would be hectic enough.

After a light evening snack, Rick took the first watch; his thoughts would keep him awake in any case. He heard quiet chatter as the others lay down. 

Light steps, a few broken twigs -- Rick snapped out of his thoughts and smiled. Daryl gave him advance warning.

“Hey,” the hunter grunted quietly as he sat down by Rick’s side.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Nah, too wired. ‘sides, reckoned you need company. Didn’t like how ya looked back there.”

Surprised and just a bit amused, Rick gave a tiny snort. “What, I got ugly suddenly?”

Daryl nudged him and his reply was playful; however, Rick sensed it took a distinct effort on his part. 

“Nuh, you’re pretty enough with all them curls an’ shit.”

Rick waited, and he didn’t have to wait for long. 

“Ya should tell your brain to shut up. I know that look, man. You’re overthinkin’. Again. This ain’t the time to second-guess ourselves, y’know. ‘s a good plan. We’ve got good people carryin’ it out. There are teams out there an’ we trust them to do what they’re supposed to do. An’ those people count on us to do our part. It’s a good plan, Rick. We got a fair chance. We’re outnumbered, outgunned, but it ain’t the first time we’ve done this. Every time we’ve taken the time to plan, we’ve succeeded. Don’t think about the times we didn’t make it. It ain’t like that this time. We know what we’re doin’ an’ ya know it. So stop torturin’ yerself.”

Rick couldn’t help but feel a bit better. 

“What gave me away?”

“Told ya, I know that look. Your face gets all pinched an’ ya got that crazy look in your eyes. Like you’re seein’ dead people. An’ I don’t mean walkers.”

Jesus… he really looked like that? He heard Daryl’s frustrated huff.

“Stop it, man. I didn’t come here to make you feel _more_ like crap... Those others, they don’t see what I see. They haven’t known you long enough. Carl maybe, but he’s got his own shit on his mind right now.”

Rick gave him a weak smile. “I guess I’ve let myself forget the times we’ve won. It’s just-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Rick.” Daryl was frowning hard now. “Now’s not the time to think about the battles we’ve lost. We’ve been over those, we’ve learned from them. Stop tryin’ to pick holes in our plan. Don’t borrow trouble. If shit goes sideways, we’ll worry about it then. There’s nothin’ more we can plan right now. Stop beatin’ yerself.”

Rick was silent for a moment. Then he exhaled hard.

“Ok. Don’t know what got into me. Everything you said is true. And nothing has changed, not really, except the timetable -- and it wasn’t fixed anyhow so in a way even that didn’t change… The whole Hilltop disaster, of course… and Maggie, Enid... Eric… but still, the plan’s pretty much the same, essentially. So everything should work. I just…”

“I know.” Daryl’s voice was softer now. “I’m just sayin’ don’t do it. Ya don’t hafta carry everything on your shoulders. Not everything’s on you.” 

The hunter threw a swift glance over his shoulder to their sleeping teammates and turned back to Rick just to give him a soft, furtive, fleeting little kiss on his lips. Rick chuckled.

“You gonna kiss me mellow?”

“Could kiss ya all sorts of things but this ain’t the place for it,” Daryl replied, voice gruff but the wink gave him away.

Rick was just about to forget his position as an Exemplary And Very Sober Minded Leader, and drown his worries in Daryl’s lips, when they both heard a series of grunts and growls and sharp cracks of twigs. And just like that, Rick locked away all of his second-guessing and self-doubt, and the two of them moved like one person, in tandem. Daryl didn’t have to ask Rick to go wake the others up; Rick didn’t have to tell Daryl to go scout how large a walker mob they’d be facing.

When Rick hurried quietly towards his sleeping team members, he entertained a quick, futile wish that tomorrow would turn out to be just as simple and straightforward. 

*

Forty minutes before zero hour, Rick’s team crouched behind a thicket, scanning the low old school building where the eastern outpost was located. Now that the plan was about to go down, Rick didn’t even remember the doubts of the previous night. He was laser-focused, his mind clear and uncluttered. At his side, Daryl radiated calm, but Rick saw his grip on the crossbow, the white knuckles. The familiar squint was unflappable, however, and the voice was even when he talked with Carl in hushed tones. No, Daryl would be just fine -- he always was. Rick was more worried about a few other members of his team; for some, this was the first time they saw real action. His gaze washed over their faces. Some were pale, some were flushed and sweaty, but they all looked back at him with steady eyes. 

Carl, then. He hoped he could’ve left him in Alexandria. But there was no way that had been possible, especially after what had happened with Enid. Carl was young, and his calm optimism -- which just days ago had led him to ask his dad about the treatment of the Saviors -- had been shattered brutally, and Rick simply didn’t trust him not to do anything stupid while he and Daryl and Michonne were gone. Plenty of evidence that Carl was quite capable of striking out on his own. Rick still shuddered to think of the time he’d attacked the Sanctuary all by his lonesome.

No, he had to keep an eye on his son. This was the only solution. 

*

Daryl led half of the men to the other side of the building; Rick took Carl and the others and started the careful, agonizingly slow crawl towards the main doors. They took cover in a shallow ditch and behind the sparse clusters of knee-high weeds growing unchecked where there used to be a well-maintained lawn. Rick heard Carl’s breath, the nervous pant which the young man didn’t quite manage to control. Granted, the crawl was nerve-wrecking, but they’d decided this approach was doable. Several recons had confirmed that whoever was in charge of this particular outpost didn’t much believe in keeping look-outs on the roof. _It takes all kinds of idiots to make the world, thank God_ , Rick had thought every time another scout had brought him that information. 

Nevertheless, Rick understood Carl’s jittery nerves. If some Savior decided to take spontaneous responsibility of the high vantage point, or simply craved peace an’ quiet and took a stroll on the roof, they’d be in plain sight, and shot to pieces in minutes.

Fifty yards from the doors the ragged forest of weeds came to an end and the paved yard began. They veered to the right, crawled like snakes through the dry weeds, aiming towards the bicycle shed where they’d wait for the hands on Rick’s watch to reach 11 am. They still had a good ten minutes to get there when the front door opened, hinges creaking, and two Saviors strolled out, rifles dangling on their backs. 

Rick glued himself to the ground and saw the closest Alexandrian, Tim, freeze and cast a panicked eye to him. Rick gave a soundless shush and the tiniest gesture of hand to indicate _Stay down, stay silent_ , and tried to look as calm as humanly possible. He moved a few weeds aside, slow as a snail, and peered through at the Saviors. 

The men were leaning on the wall, smoking, chatting with low voices. Rick let out a shaky sigh of relief -- the men weren’t even looking their way, so they had a fair chance of getting through this. The only problem would be if the men stayed there too long -- Rick checked his watch, they only had eight minutes to get behind the frickin’ shed. Sure, they could start the attack right here, but they were angled wrong, lateral to the men; turning towards them amid the dry weeds, moving the guns, would make just enough noise that the men would have the few seconds they’d need to shoot at them first. Which would alert all the other Saviors. So Rick would wait until the last possible moment -- he still aimed for plan A, meaning the two teams would enter the building from both sides at the same time, quiet-like and stealthy. 

The men smoked their cigarettes, spat on the ground and went back inside. Rick let out another sigh of relief, gestured his men, and they made quick work of the remaining dozen yards. They used the shed to creep unnoticed to the edge of the main building and stopped just at the corner, a few feet from the main doors. Rick checked his watch again: one minute. He was just about to gesture a go signal when they heard the creak of the hinges again. Rick swore under his breath. Well. At least they weren’t lying prone in sparse weeds anymore. 

He glanced back; Carl and Tim stood right behind him, both listening intently. Tim raised his index finger and his eyebrow: _One?_ Rick nodded. He was hearing one set of steps, too. 

The person was pacing back and forth with light, leisurely steps. Rick heard them get closer to the corner. He slid his knife quietly out of its holster, and then one thing followed another in a smooth sequence. The person turned the corner, adjusting the rifle sling, obviously not having the slightest idea of a lifespan shrunk to a fraction of a second. Rick had just time to confirm what the light steps had told him, but the Southern gentleman in him had died an agonized death months ago, and not a tiniest hesitation slowed his hand as he pushed the knife through the throat, straight up to the brain, and the puzzled look froze on the face of the middle-aged woman.

Rick lowered the body down, and Tim helped him strip the woman of all her weapons and ammo. Rick glanced at the dead woman but couldn’t muster up any remorse or pity. She’d had a rifle, a handgun, two nasty-looking knives -- she’d been one of the fighters, and for all he knew, responsible for one or several deaths of his people. For all he knew, she could’ve been there to cheer Negan on, all those months ago in the clearing.

_Shit happens, lady._ And he led his men quietly through the doors.

They entered a fair-sized hall with two corridors, left and right. Rick stopped to listen, tried to figure out which way to the Saviors. Carl tilted his head, pricked his sharp young ears, and nudged his dad. He pointed at the right-hand corridor. Rick nodded. 

His men didn’t need to be told what to do; the nervous energy of half an hour ago had vanished and the weeks of preparation had taken over. They advanced along the corridor which still had a few remnants of blood red here and there where the current occupants’ half-assed attempts at cleaning hadn’t reached them. Drawings made by long-gone middle schoolers still hung on the walls, the cheerful pictures partly torn and splattered with blood, and Rick spent a second wishing the Saviors had bothered to rip them off. 

The sound of voices flowed in the corridor; the closer they got, the more apparent it was that a bunch of Saviors were bickering with each other. Soon they heard more than just the miffed tones, and there was something horrifying in the sheer normalcy of it all: these obedient, violent followers of the unpredictable, brutal dictator were squabbling about the relative merits of Marvel and DC Comics. The discussion was deadly serious, and the one who was currently arguing on the originality of Batman versus the banality of Captain America was quite heated in his arguments.

The Alexandrians looked at each other. Rick firmly repelled the distraction -- he did not want to see the Saviors as _people_ who loved comics and had opinions on the Winter Soldier and the Black Widow, and who had read Spider-Man in their youth just like he had, dreaming of adventures and superpowers and heroism. 

No, they could not afford to take prisoners, they could not waste time weighing who deserved to live and who had to die, so thinking of these people as _people_ would only make it all that much harder. He saw the steel in Carl’s eyes mix with confusion, and was reminded of Daryl. _“Whatcha gonna do after?”_

His first duty, though, was to ensure there would _be_ an after. He took a firmer grip on his Python, and nodded to the others, his lips a grim line. They’d talk about _the after_ when the outpost would be secured. 

There were six Saviors in that room, completely caught by surprise, and put down before they even had drawn their weapons. The short burst of gunfire had barely stopped reverberating in the air when they heard shouts and shooting on the other side of the building. 

“Daryl,” Rick stated, hoping he sounded confident as he led his men towards the other team. He _was_ confident in Daryl’s abilities, but all it took was one stray bullet or a lucky thrust of a knife… A surge of guilt arose quickly -- Daryl wasn’t the only one there, five other Alexandrians were fighting tooth and nail along with him, Tim’s brother among them. He glanced at his teammate and got a worried look right back. They picked up their pace as they flew through the corridors, checking every classroom they passed. They didn’t need any lurking Saviors on their six.

Finally, they reached the gym. Daryl’s team was hard at work subduing a group of some fifteen Saviors. Six of them were down already, but so were two of the Alexandrians. Rick took in the scene in one glance. His team rushed to aid their friends; he heard Tim let out an enraged shout as he saw his brother on the floor, blood gushing out of a wound in his side. 

Daryl was pinned down against the stairs of the stand, with a huge brute crouching over him, holding him down with the sheer bulk of his body, a machete perilously close to Daryl’s throat. The hunter was fighting like a rabid wolf but nothing he did seemed to affect the colossal Savior in the slightest. 

Rick heard the brute’s laughter over the ruckus of the fight. His brain short-circuited; the message from his eyes didn’t even have time to reach the conscious brain, had no time to be properly processed at all -- the bullet left his Python in that split second and hit the Savior’s head. The machete nicked Daryl’s neck as the Savior’s grip gave out, but the hunter didn’t even react to it. He shook his head and wiped clumps of Savior blood and brain off his face. He would deny it, of course, but a look of bewildered relief crossed his face as he stared at the space where a second ago there’d been the snarling Savior. 

“What took you so long?” he just drawled, as Rick reached him and held out his hand to help him stand up. 

They didn’t have time for quips, nor kisses for that matter -- the Saviors were far from defeated yet. Four of them were still standing, and four more emerged from the side doors, alerted by the shots and the shouts.

*

Ten minutes later, the gym was a Savior-free area. Carl moved from body to body double-checking there wouldn’t be any unpleasant surprises. Three of the bodies were Alexandrians, and Rick took it upon himself to perform the final service. Tim’s brother Chris was wounded but he’d make it; Tim would take him back to Alexandria in one of the Savior cars and then, if all went well, would head towards the Sanctuary to rejoin the fight.

Rick drew Tim aside. “How would you feel about taking our dead back with you?” he asked in a low voice. “They could get a proper burial instead of a shallow grave here, and instead of digging those graves, I’d prefer to let these people have an hour’s rest before we head to the Sanctuary.” It sounded cold and pragmatic, but Tim was a down-to-earth kind of guy, and anyway, this wasn’t the time for sugarcoating.

“Sure,” the man nodded, accepting his grim fate as a hearse driver. At least Chris would be with him, alive, albeit not well.

As soon as they’d seen to the bodies and Tim had driven off, Rick gave the orders.

“You’ve got one hour to rest. Generators are running -- go take a shower, eat something, take a nap. You’ll need your strength in six hours at the Sanctuary. This here, this was the easy part.”

_-Daryl-_

“Ya worried?”

Rick was driving the van, with Carl and three other guys sitting uncomfortably on the floor at the back. He took a few minutes before glancing at Daryl. Before answering. 

“Not as such. I can’t worry about the other teams. Can’t waste my energy on that. So it’s all behind lock an’ key. Like you said, they’re good teams. No reason to assume they didn’t do just as well as we did. Or better -- we lost three men, after all. But I’m not thinking about that, either.”

“So what’s the frown about?”

“Negan. Just… tryin’ to get in his head. His mindset. You said it yourself: we gotta think like him if we’re gonna win this thing. ‘cause you gotta hand it to him -- you can say a lot of awful things about him an’ every one of them would be true, but stupid he ain’t. In another life, the guy could’ve been a criminal mastermind. Hell, maybe he was! Seems he can think three steps ahead and twice around the corner.”

“Ya think he sees something like this coming? Has plans ready for an all-out attack on the Sanctuary?”

They’d lowered their voices. The van was noisy enough, rattling over the bumps on the road, but there was really no need for the others to hear this discussion. Those clever enough were probably already worrying over similar stuff but they hardly needed to hear their leaders dwell on it only a few hours before the attack.

Rick skirted the question. “Had a nightmare last night-”

“Ya said nothin’ to me.”

“Figured this day would be bad enough without starting it with an episode of The Twilight Zone... “ His voice faded away. 

Daryl waited for a few minutes. _Good Lord,_ **_now_ ** _Rick decides to go all tight-lipped! Jesus Christ, I gotta_ **_beg_ ** _him to get if off his chest?_ Daryl resisted rolling his eyes -- an impressive feat if there ever was one.

“Come on, man, tell me. Ya can’t spook me with _stories_ of dreams. They can’t be worse than what I got goin’ in my head every night.” 

Rick shrugged. “You ever watched movies where there’s a bad guy who’s got those borderline preternatural abilities? He knows every move the good guys make before they make it, and even when things seem to go bad for him, it’s only a smokescreen and it’s actually exactly what he wanted to happen all along, for whatever reason, and every single fuckin’ thing is one big manipulation… Well, I got that last night. And when I got up, all I could think of was the day when… I mean, back then, it felt like we were in an episode of a show like that. Negan seemed so overwhelming. Omnipotent.”

“Well, he ain’t.” 

“I know he ain’t. I had a few god-awful months back then, not really believing he was, and yet...afraid to test it. We’ve talked about that. I don’t function so well without you around, remember?” Rick gave a lopsided smile and glanced at Daryl. “It wasn’t a fun dream, though.”

“I bet it wasn’t. But y’know…” Daryl paused. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to form into words the shapeless thought darting around in his mind. “Maybe he anticipates an attack. Maybe he really does. Or maybe he don’t. There’s nothin’ we can do about it. All we can do is make the best plan we possibly can. Try to think like him, try to figure out scenarios, reactions. That’s all we can do, and we’ve done it. The rest… we’ll just have to go with the flow. It is what it is. The alternative is to turn tail and head back to Alexandria to get everyone an’ run like hell all the way to Canada.” He stopped. He was so goddamn _bad_ at explaining stuff. Half the time he couldn’t explain stuff to himself!

Rick didn’t say anything, his gaze was firmly on the windshield. Daryl knew, however; the man was listening to every word. The hunter stumbled on.

“We have a plan, we’ve got good people, we got a fair chance. That’s all we need to know. The rest is… is nothing. The rest is...just _noise_. Like, when I’m hunting… I track, an’ I find the trail, an’ I know what’s my target, an’ then it’s just… like, I empty my mind an’ _go for it_. The target is all. I got a plan, but if the target does something, then I react to it. But I can’t react quickly enough if my mind is full of what-if’s, clutterin’ my brain, rattlin’ around, makin’ _noise_.”

He shut up, frustrated. He was no goddamn Sun Tzu, he got no proper words for something he just _knew_ how to do.

There was a furrow on Rick’s forehead, the man slowed down and turned the van left to a small forest road; they were only minutes from the rendezvous point. When Rick had negotiated the vehicle safely to the narrow road, he gave Daryl a thoughtful look.

“Back in the prison, I kept repeating I need you. Truer words never were said. You’re the frickin’ yin to my yang.” A brief smile flashed on the leader’s face. 

The flare of happiness that sparked in Daryl’s heart was just as brief, but they were going to war and even the tiniest flicker was enough, like a soft summer breeze. _Not gonna make a list of why I love him. But if I did, this’d be in the top three. He gets me. He just gets me._

*

They’d chosen a tiny clearing surrounding a dilapidated hut that had probably been some sort of a hunting cabin back in the good ol’ Mesozoic era or thereabouts. It was an hour’s trek from the Sanctuary, it was relatively easy to get to, and the Saviors had no interest in it -- those were the points in its favor, not the meager esthetic pleasure the hut might offer to a less than discriminating viewer.

There was a small group of people already at the rendezvous point. Rick parked the van and they got out. A slim woman approached them -- no trace of a smile on her face, which still looked odd to Daryl. He’d grown used to her easy smiles, and he hadn’t spent that much time with her after his escape. After Abe.

Her cold eyes flicked between him and Rick. Her report came curt and unprompted.

“Outpost down. Two dead.”

Rick nodded. “Ours is down as well. Three dead, Chris wounded, Tim’s driving him back to Alexandria. He’ll come to the Sanctuary as soon as possible.”

Daryl left them to talk and went to the SUVs that Sasha’s group had commandeered. A short, stocky Alexandrian _(Will? yeah, Will)_ stood by one of them, greeted him and opened the hatch door like he fully expected an inspection. Daryl didn’t mind the unexpected deference. It’d be useful to know what the others had taken from their outpost. He hummed, satisfied with the spoils of the attack. A good number of rifles, handguns, ammo, some mean-looking machetes as well. One large box contained dozens of cans -- fruit, beans, tuna. He grabbed a jar of peanut butter and glanced at Will, grinning wolfishly. 

“Now we just need to live long enough to enjoy them treats. Dibs on this one.”

Will grinned back and led Daryl to the other car. _Good_ , Daryl thought, satisfied with the steady nerves of the other man. _At least the outpost attack didn’t fray his courage too much._

Rick and Sasha soon joined them and they were hard at work making inventory of their new weapons, when they heard some others let out low greetings. Daryl jogged to see which group had arrived; Rick’s stroll was calm and collected. At that moment, the hunter realized how people-starved he’d become during all these months, first at the Sanctuary, then in his lair in Alexandria. _Who’d’ve thought_ , he snorted to himself, _that a Dixon would prefer company over bein’ alone? Bein’ around some stupid people instead of mindin’ mah own business_ , he went on, snorting again at the echo of the Daryl Dixon of Before. 

“Look who we found!” It was Jesus’s soft shout, tired but good-humored. Daryl narrowed his eyes and scanned the group. 

He would’ve recognized that mullet anywhere. 

“Truly, I do not know whether to kick or to kiss you, Daryl Dixon,” the monotonous voice droned. “You made a fool of Negan, and he does not take kindly to that. No sir, he does not. Only my potential usefulness with regard to the bullet situation kept me alive during the worst of it. However, in spite of the unpleasantness to my person, I don’t mind admitting I’m mighty glad to see you alive and well. Although, on second thought, I will refrain from expressing that delight with kisses as I am more inclined to bestow them to those of the female persuasion. As to the kicking, I’m not ashamed to admit that on no account am I willing to risk life and limb by trying to inflict harm on your precious posterior as I’ve been given to understand that said posterior is indeed precious to someone here.” And Eugene’s beady eyes flicked over to Rick.

Behind him, Rick chuckled. “Eugene, I’ve missed you.” 

Daryl was speechless. Less than a minute back from the Saviors, and Eugene had already managed to annoy the hell out of him. The aggravating li’l einstein was efficient like that at least. Then his brain finished processing Eugene’s jabber. He frowned and fixed his eyes on the man standing beside Eugene; Jesus was very carefully inspecting his nails.

“Goddamn gossip,” he growled at the man. “Ya sayin’ that takin’ down an outpost ain’t enough to keep ya busy? Naw, ya just gotta tattle like a bunch o’ girls the first chance ya get?”

“In his defence,” Eugene said primly, “I did ask for the latest news. And since most of them were on the sorrowful side,” the inexpressive face _almost_ expressed dismay, “I required something uplifting. After the stint in Negan’s bullet factory, after almost bein’ shot by one of these fine gentlemen in the thick of the battle, I craved a bolster to my wavering spirits. The Grimes-Dixon merger was deemed to do the trick.”

“Well, did it?” Rick was amused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“It did indeed. In our current reality it compares to the royal weddings of Before,” Eugene said without the slightest levity.

Daryl found he had a hard time putting on a proper Dixon scowl. He did his best, though.

“The only thing I wanna know,” he growled, and was highly satisfied when he noticed a tiny twinge of alarm on Jesus’s face, “is what the hell is this Grimes-Dixon crap.” Rick turned to look at him, head tilted, amusement dancing in his eyes. Daryl sniffed. “What I mean is, why ain’t it Dixon-Grimes? What’s with that, hunh? ‘s alphabetical, for starters.”

“I’m ever so glad to hear that we’re focusing on the critical points of the imminent attack on the Sanctuary,” said a dry voice, and Daryl twirled around to see Tara’s grin emerge from behind the hut. The woman was grimy, and she had a slight limp, but she looked elated.

Rick greeted her with a relieved smile. “Now we’re all here.” He peered behind Tara. “Or are we? Where’s the rest of your group?”

“They’re a couple of minutes behind.”

There was something off with Tara’s chirpy voice. Daryl gave her a long, hard look, which Tara carefully ignored. Rick didn’t seem to notice anything; he had turned back to Aaron and Jesus. Aaron was giving a short account of their attack. They’d lost one man, gained Eugene and loads of bullets, and-

“Since we come bearing gifts, we fully trust we’re forgiven the gossip.” Aaron smiled at Rick. Daryl saw how the smile floated on the surface, didn’t reach the eyes -- which was only to be expected. But the man did manage a wide smile, nonetheless. A small miracle, considering. _I ain’t complain’. We’ll take every miracle, big or small._

His gaze followed Aaron’s hand, it was pointing to an old Jeep. 

“Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, you of all people should love this.” Aaron took them to the car and opened the trunk. Daryl let out a short, surprised chortle. 

“Well, fuck. Should help with creatin’ a diversion, dontcha think, Rick?”

The leader looked at the two RPGs resting peacefully on the floor of the trunk. Daryl tried to decipher the expression on his face. Relief -- and something else. 

“Rick?”

The man shook his head. “Just...worries me, ‘s all. We’ll talk on the way, ok.” He turned back to Tara.

“What about you? Mission a success? Losses?”

Tara still had that slightly off tone in her too-perky voice. “No losses. A few bruises, a coupla wounds.”

Rick lifted a pleased eyebrow. “That’s great.”

Daryl squinted at her. “How did ya pull that off?”

“What, hard to believe we’re just that good?” Tara huffed without any real indignation.

“Nah, ain’t that an’ ya know it. Outposts had at least double our force, so no losses just sounds real good luck.”

Tara looked slightly uncomfortable. “Good luck… yeah… about that…”

The sound of multiple footsteps interrupted her, and Michonne turned the corner of the hovel and led the rest of their group onto the small clearing. 

Daryl watched a bunch of complete strangers stroll among the Alexandrians. Michonne didn’t have the air of someone with a gun to her back, so he just narrowed his eyes and shot a look at Tara. The young woman was nibbling her lip and giving shifty sideglances at him and Rick. _Who the fuck are these people and why is Tara lookin’ so damn guilty?_

Rick cleared his throat. “Would someone care to introduce these ladies?” His tone was pleasant but his hand rested on the Python.

One of the women -- still just a girl, more like -- stepped forward with the comfortable gait of a seasoned fighter. She bowed her head lightly, just enough to show a modicum of respect, not enough to indicate any kind of submission. A bow of an equal, in fact. Daryl huffed to himself. Well, can’t blame the girl. He liked her better for the attitude. Groveling had never been something he’d particularly trusted in.

The girl shifted her gaze to Tara who walked over to the group and turned towards Rick and Daryl. She visibly braced herself and drew a long steadying breath.

“Guys, meet Cyndie and her group. They’re from Oceanside.” She went silent, waiting for the inevitable questions like a sacrificial lamb would wait for the knife.

“The way it looks, Cyndie and her friends helped you with your attack?” Rick inquired mildly. “We’re always happy to welcome new, trustworthy allies, of course.” The emphasis on ‘trustworthy’ was ever so tiny, but Tara heard it. She flinched, but didn’t say anything. Rick went on, and the formality of the turn of his phrase made Tara even more uncomfortable -- on the other hand, Michonne’s lips twitched like she dearly wanted to chuckle. Daryl wasn’t sure if she was more amused at Rick’s eloquence, or received a tiny bit of sadistic pleasure from Tara’s reaction. 

“Now Tara, if you were so kind as to tell me why you look like you’re ready to lunge over a cliff, I’d be more at ease with our new friends? 

Daryl listened to Tara’s story with increasing disbelief. Anger and disappointment surged in his mind. Tara was _family_. He’d thought he’d been her _friend_. She’d spent hours on end with him, keeping him company, talking, hashing out details of the attacks...and she’d kept this to herself?

She’d put strangers before her family.

Tara caught his eye and flinched. Rick was talking, using his leader voice, the one that brooked no argument. The damn girl was wilting before their combined disappointment, she didn’t even try to defend herself -- even though, to be fair (even though Daryl didn’t want to be fair right now), her defence stood behind her, the ten fighters, and a whole community that might be amenable to cooperation. _At least once our troops first do the dirty work an’ put down the common enemy._ Daryl snorted in his mind. _Didn’t that work out swell with Gregory and Hilltop…_

A moment’s complete silence. Every eye was on Rick. Michonne leaned on the hovel, apparently waiting for the judgment, and Daryl had no idea what she was thinking. They’d beaten their outpost without a single loss -- Daryl had to admit that counted for something. But he wasn’t feeling generous. Lucky he wasn’t the one who had to make the decision. He tilted his head just enough to see Rick.

The leader seemed to sense his gaze, turned to look back at him -- and it felt just as it had a long time ago, before Alexandria. Rick’s eyes held an almost-completely-formed decision. They held a question, too; the leader wanted Daryl’s _yes_ or his _no_. He wanted Daryl’s seal, the confirmation that Rick’s instinct was sound -- or not. 

He’d almost forgotten what these felt like, these silent negotiations. Alexandria had messed it up, broken their link with tiny, almost invisible fractures that had weakened the way they _knew_ each other.

He sighed to himself, irritated with this turn of events. Their weeks together in the sewers, the kissing and the fucking and the love, it hadn’t prepared him for this. There’d been no occasion to see this coming. Rick was _trusting_ him again, the way he’d used to, which meant, damn, it meant he didn’t have the luxury for petty disappointment or self-pity or any of that crap. He had to be a goddamn _adult_. Focus on the _strategy_ , an’ the _tactics_ , an’ the number of the damn _boots on the ground_. The fuckin’ _Big Picture_.

Fine. He’d feel sorry for himself and lay down the law to Tara later -- when they had Negan’s head on a damn spike, and they’d have all the time in the world to squabble, and Daryl could explain to Tara the meaning of _family_ , _priorities_ , and _trust_.

He gave a small nod to Rick. A smile flashed on the leader’s face and he walked closer to Tara and the Oceansiders.

“Tara, your heart’s in the right place but you really gotta work on your common sense.” 

Tara’s tense shoulders relaxed with every word. This was still Rick’s leader voice, but this time it was the honeyed let’s-all-be-friends-and-pull-together version. He welcomed the newcomers and invited Aaron and the other teamleaders closer for a quick introduction. 

Daryl thought he’d go back and get another look at them RPGs, and he was almost there when a rumble of a large vehicle caught his notice. He saw Carl snap to attention and turn his frantic eyes towards him. Daryl beckoned him with an impatient gesture, the boy fled to him and they crouched behind the Jeep.

Rick had wasted no time, he was already barking orders, and people were taking cover behind the vehicles and the hovel, and Aaron’s team vanished into the woods like ghosts. Daryl nodded, that was a sensible move -- someone had to make sure nobody was trying to sneak at them through the woods. If these were Saviors, they would be trying to do just that, so Aaron and Jesus had their work cut out for them. 

Sasha had somehow managed to get on the roof of the rickety hut, and lay there, ready with her rifle. 

The rumble was getting closer. “You think there’s more than one?” Carl whispered.

Daryl peered over the hood -- not that he was hoping to see the coming vehicle yet, but to make sure Rick hadn’t gotten any stupid ideas, like stay on the clearing and be reckless and defiant and confident and thoroughly _Rick_ about it. But he caught a glimpse of him, retreating behind one of the SUVs. Thank fuck.

At the same time, he listened to the tones of the rumble. “I’m thinkin’ three,” he said. “One truck, two cars. That’s a lot of people. Somebody’s gotta have sold us out. Gregory’s gotta have had more info than we thought. Should’ve gutted that son of a bitch when I had the chance…”

He wasn’t even angry. He was resigned. Apparently there was no end to how despicable some people could be. 

Oh well. He crept to the rear of the Jeep and dragged out one the RPGs, went back and settled himself and the weapon as comfortably as he could. _Sasha ain’t gonna be the only one ready to blast Saviors to kingdom come._

“Ya just watch my back,” he grunted to Carl who looked at the weapon with wide eyes. “Aaron’s gonna keep them fuckers off our asses but just in case one slips by his team… I ain’t gonna be able to even the odds with this li’l thingy if someone gets to put a bullet through my head.” 

The truck rolled on the clearing, two SUVs behind it. The large vehicle stopped with a shudder and the loud purr of the engine died down. Daryl couldn’t see in the cabin, the windows were tinted. The door on the passenger’s side opened and the hunter stood up, the RPG firmly on his shoulder, his finger hovering on the trigger, and he positively _itched_ to pull it. But he wanted to be sure, he wanted to make sure Negan was there, he didn’t want to waste the weapon on a truck full of regular fighters if the man himself was in an SUV, ‘cause he might not get a second cha-

“You wanna put that thing down, Pookie?”

Carol emerged from behind the door. There was a wary smile on her face, like she wasn’t quite sure of her welcome. Daryl barely had the presence of mind to put the weapon down with caution, then he strode over the clearing and hugged the wariness away. Her wiry arms wrapped around him, and she burrowed her face in his neck.

“I’m sorry, Daryl,” she murmured, voice so low and indistinct Daryl had a hard time getting the words.

“Yer here now.” He blinked furiously. Hardly the time to blubber like a baby.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I didn’t know what was going on. I had things to figure out but…”

“There’s always a but somewhere,” Daryl interrupted. “You’d been here, it might’ve been you bludgeoned to death, or shot down, or made an example of in some other way. Wouldn’t have done us any good, wouldn’t’ve changed nothin’, we weren’t prepared… Now we are, an’ maybe you’ve done some of the figurin’ out, so the only thing that matters is that you are here. So shut up.”

His words came out sharp, almost angry. He’d just realized he’d been _this_ close to firing that RPG. If he’d been less hell-bent on spending that grenade on Negan, he might’ve- 

He squeezed Carol so hard she gave out a low, surprised squeak. He eased up on the death grip and pressed a tiny kiss on her hair.

“I love you too, Pookie.”

He heard a small smile in her voice. Carol pulled back, looked at him, let her eyes roam over the others. Rick had already walked over, Daryl hadn’t even noticed. The leader held out his arms.

“My God am I glad to see you.” Rick hugged her and looked so relieved, like a huge weight had been lifted off his chest. 

Another person stepped down from the cabin. Daryl’s heart skipped a beat but before he had time to say a word, Carl ran past him and straight to Maggie’s arms. 

“You’re alive!” he cried. “We were so worried… Maggie, Enid’s dead.” The last phrase was so quiet Daryl just barely made out the words, but Maggie’s sad face confirmed them. She pulled away and brushed Carl’s cheek.

“I know, Rosita told me… I’m so sorry, Carl.” She lifted her head and searched the eyes of Daryl and Rick. “Was it… was it very bad? And what about Alexandria? Did Negan pay you a visit?”

Rick answered. “You can talk with Jesus and Aaron on the way to the Sanctuary, they know more about Hilltop, they just returned, with Eugene no less.” He drew a slow breath. “And yeah, Negan came. He, um, he and Lucille gave us another one of his lessons.”

Carol frowned. Daryl was certain Rosita and Maggie had filled her in but apparently this detail had been omitted. “Lucille? Who’s she?” 

“‘s not a she,” Daryl grunted. “It’s the thing he kills people with for educational purposes. A fuckin’ baseball bat with barbed wire wrapped around it.”

Carol rarely was struck dumb; even now she got out a strangled “Shit…”.

“Who was it this time?” Maggie asked. Her face was taut, her lips pinched, and Daryl knew she was having flashbacks.

“Eric.”

“Oh my God…”

They were interrupted by a sound of several feet -- Aaron’s men were emerging from the woods, and Maggie saw the man approach them.

“Was he there?” she whispered, and Daryl grunted a yes. Maggie let go of Carl, gave him a small smile, and strode towards Aaron. Daryl didn’t hear what they said; Maggie touched Aaron’s arm gently, and that was it.

No time to break down, cry, hug it out.

Rick was talking with Carol. He looked at the vehicles with poorly restrained hope. “Did you bring us something, Carol?”

She smirked. “Let’s say me and Maggie and Rosita beat some sense into a royal brain.”

“twas uncalled for,” chastised a booming voice, and a man -- _the King of, well, the Kingdom_ , Daryl supposed -- sauntered from the other side of the vehicle. “Lengthy debates are all well and good when the occasion allows leisure for such things. However, kingdoms have tumbled when kings have dithered, when queens have preferred arguments over action, and I am not prepared to let that happen. My dear Carol, you and the silver-tongued Mrs Rhee together with the most determined Rosita from Alexandria -- your reasoning was so sound it prevailed easily.” The man stopped before Rick and extended his hand. “Rick, I presume?”

The leader gave the man an appraising look and after a few heartbeats accepted the proffered hand. 

“Splendid!” the King boomed, and turned to Daryl. “And this is the esteemed Daryl, I gather?” The man was wise enough not to hold out his hand just like that. He looked at the hunter, relaxed his posture a tiny little bit, and quirked the corner of his mouth. “Would you shake my hand, Daryl?” It was a genuine question.

Daryl didn’t answer right away. He glanced at Rick. “An’ I thought _you_ ’re hell-bent on speeches. Ya ain’t got nothin’ on him, Rick, ya gotta practice. After Negan’s done for, you’re gonna do them oratorical contests with this guy?” He squinted at the king who was laughing out loud now. That decided it for Daryl, and he held out his hand. “Yeah, sure, why not, I’ll shake your hand. Ain’t gonna call you no king, though. Ya can live with that?” 

“I will do my utmost to survive the hardship,” the king said with a broad smile. After that he was all business and addressed Rick and Daryl both. “The Kingdom has come to join your effort. _Our_ effort, if you accept our help.”

Rick was still wary, Daryl saw it clearly in the way Rick’s hands rested on his hips, in the way his eyes were narrowed and the muscle on his jaw twitched. Daryl guessed it wasn’t the king Rick was suspicious of, it was the whole damn thing, the horrifying amount of _good luck_ they’d had, what with the Oceansiders, Eugene, the RPGs. And now this…

“How many?” Daryl grunted out a question. He saw Carol flick her eyes to Ezekiel, ready to translate the curt Dixonese to more erudite English. The king needed no such thing, however.

“Twenty-five good men and women. And Shiva, of course.”

“Who’s Shiva?” Rick asked, baffled by one of the fighters being mentioned apart like that.

Ezekiel turned his head and called out, “Jerry, would you mind bringing Shiva to meet our new allies?”

From the back of the truck emerged a stout man with a jovial, bearded face, a thick chain in his hand, and a smirking Rosita by his side. Daryl’s “Hi” to her dried up in his throat as a gigantic animal padded into view.

A tiger. They’d brought a damn _tiger_. 

For a moment, silence hovered over the clearing, dozens of people just staring at the animal who didn’t grace them with an ounce of her attention, her eyes were firmly fixed on Ezekiel. Daryl glanced at Carol, Maggie, Rosita. The damn chicks were all biting their lips, trembling with suppressed laughter. He heard a giant sigh behind him and turned to Rick. The man rubbed his face with his hand.

“I’m getting too old for this shit.” The leader shook his head; Daryl saw amusement flicker in his eyes. Then he got serious again, checked his watch, nodded at Ezekiel, and turned around to face all the others that had slowly gathered behind them to check out the newcomers. 

Rick spoke, his voice clear and compelling.

“We have half an hour before we leave. We join the forces of Alexandria, Hilltop, Oceanside and the Kingdom. We are independent, we bow to no-one -- but we work _together_ , we’re _united_. We do not need the salvation the Saviors force on us, we _save ourselves_. Together.” Rick paused to draw breath, and Daryl noticed he’d been holding his. Damn, he kinda liked it when Rick went on his ‘Liberty or Death’ mode.

The leader paced in front of his troops, made eye contact while he spoke. “And when this day is over, and we can once again live in peace with our fellow human beings and only wage war on the dead, then we will _continue_ to work together -- we will learn from each other, we will trade with each other, we will build bridges between our communities and we will take back this world of the living, the world we’d almost lost to the dead.” Again he paused. “Today is a difficult day to us all. We will suffer losses -- we’ve already suffered losses and more will come until the day is over. But I swear to you right here, right now -- it will be worth it. We will honor the brave men and women who give their lives so that yours will be better. So that you will be free. Will you swear the same with me?”

What Daryl would swear was that there were tears in people’s eyes. Rick had that effect on people. Hell, maybe you had to have that effect on people to be their leader. You had to be able to _move_ them, tickle their emotions, right? You had to be the hub everyone wanted to revolve around.

Rick raised his voice, rousing them. “Will you swear with me?”

“Yes!” Ezekiel’s voice boomed, and the man strolled to stand on Rick’s side. And then Maggie was there, adding her “Yes!”, and another one from Cyndie. Soon the clearing reverberated with determined cries of “YES!” and even Daryl was forced to admit that his hardened, a tiny bit cynical heart pushed a quiet “Yes!” out of his mouth. It was hard to resist -- even for a Dixon -- this kind of energetic resolution.

Rick’s gaze brushed over him, the vibrating sparkle of sapphire blue, humming with conviction, and Daryl didn’t wonder about the resounding shouts of YES. True leaders created _unity_ among chaos, instilled _purpose_ where there’d been none -- what separated the Ricks and Maggies of the world from the Negans and Governors was whether that purpose was aimed for good or evil.

Daryl shook his head to himself. Ain’t got no time for fuckin’ philosophy.

Rick raised a hand and everyone quietened down. “Half an hour. Everyone, get ready. Teamleaders, let’s talk.” He strode towards the hut. 

Daryl caught up with him before they got in. “We gotta wing it a bit, what with them tiger folk and Oceansiders.”

“Yeah, I know.” Rick’s voice was tense. So he’d already been thinking about it. “Shouldn’t be a major problem, though. Not if these people know how to follow orders.”

And then they gathered in the hut -- Michonne, Tara, Cyndie, Jesus, Aaron, Sasha, Maggie, Ezekiel, Rosita, and a few “Kingdommers” Daryl didn’t have a name for. And Carol. Not a teamleader, no, but you just didn’t leave someone like her out of this, and nobody bat an eye when the woman took her place among them.

*

Exactly half an hour later the clearing was empty of people and tigers. The teams had their designated points of attack, and they were skulking through the woods to get there; a small truck, carefully hidden for a few days, was rolling towards the Sanctuary. Daryl lugged one RPG on his shoulder in addition to the crossbow; he’d given his rifle to Carl who now had two. The more the merrier.

There was something he’d been meaning to ask. He glanced around to check no-one was too close.

“Rick, ya got a problem with these?” He shrugged his shoulder and the RPG wobbled.

The leader sighed. “Just… made me think about what we’d been talkin’ about. About the scale of penalties, y’know.”

_Oh_. Daryl should’ve known. Should’ve thought about it himself.

“We’re not aiming at the common room,” he tried. They both knew it would’ve been the most efficient way to wreak absolute havoc, but. Yeah.

“You don’t mean you won’t use them?” a voice behind them demanded.

_Well, crap. The sneaky li’l shit with the sharp teenage ears..._

They let Carl get between them. The boy positively bristled.

Rick looked at him with steady eyes. “No, that’s not what we mean at all. They will be used, we just needed to figure out where they’ll cause the most practical damage. You know there’s regular families there. We’re not here to butcher everyone who happens to be within those walls. Need I remind you that not so long ago _you_ were there. _Daryl_ was there. And you saw the families, the children, the old people. I will not mow them down. I will not become Negan and justify an atrocity with ‘But we’re just _saving_ our people’.”

Carl’s eyes flashed but he gave a grudging nod. They walked a while in silence. Then Carl mumbled, “Just don’t hand me one of those things, ok.”

Rick cast a worried look over his son’s head to Daryl. The hunter nodded, but he didn’t have the foggiest idea of what to say to Carl. He was all out of philosophical crap. Oh well. 

“Make a deal with ya, kid. Me an’ Carol, we take care of them grenades -- you watch your dad’s back an’ shoot anyone who so much as blinks the wrong way at his direction. You do that until I get back to keep you both safe. That ok with ya?”

Carl grunted a sound that was probably a yes, pulled back, and let Daryl and Rick walk side by side again. The hunter looked at Rick. “We’re gonna hafta watch that kid. We’re gonna win this thing, I know we will, but it ain’t gonna be worth a damn if he gets himself killed.” He shouldn’t have just blurted it out like that, but he didn’t have the energy to sugarcoat it. And Rick didn’t need it, anyhow.

Rick let out a small groan. “I wish I could’ve left him in Alexandria, but-”

“Well ya couldn’t,” Daryl said bluntly. “Ain’t no use thinkin’ about it. We’ll just gotta keep an eye on him.” He smirked. “Maybe Shiva bites Simon’s head off right at the beginning an’ we don’t gotta worry about Carl no more.”

Rick gave him a faint smile. The quiet walk lasted for another while.

“You really think we’ll win this thing?” Rick broke the silence and sounded genuinely curious.

“Yeah I do. Gotta think that. Ain’t ready for a suicide mission just yet. Ain’t willin’ to see Negan gloat ever again. It stops tonight. Lucille burns tonight.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. What, ya don’t think we can do this? With two new allies an’ a frickin’ tiger on our side?”

Rick chuckled. “I just needed to hear you say it. All I can think of is Carol. Getting Eugene back. Maggie alive and well, ready for battle. Those Oceansiders. And the King and his twenty-five fighters and three hundred pounds of predator claws and teeth. So I have a good feeling about this. It’s just that I don’t _trust_ my feelings enough. They’ve led me wrong before. But you? You wouldn’t say a thing like that unless you really thought it could be done. ”

Daryl reached out and put his hand on Rick’s shoulder for a brief touch. They smiled to each other, a smile meant to combine the force of their confidence. Rick shared his trust in their people; Daryl his dogged determination.

‘This is doable,’ their smiles stated.

Now all that was left was actually getting it _done_.


	13. The Sanctuary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the battle...

_-Rick-_

He was itching to get going. He took a deep breath and checked his watch. Again. Second time within a minute. Daryl would snort so hard. 

But Daryl wasn’t here, now was he? The hunter was on his way to the west side of the compound, armed with one of the RPGs. Carol would find a spot on the north side, and they’d both aim their RPGs on the concrete walls and fences. The truck, loaded with a few barrels of gasoline they’d collected within the last month, was rigged and ready to go, crawling at snail’s pace towards Rick and his team, ambling towards the gate. It was like the vehicle itself was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible -- _nothing to see here, just your average good ol’ trusty truck here... oh, rolling towards you? Noooooo… you must be seeing things!_

Rick hated that Daryl had absolutely insisted on using the RPG. The man had frowned and given The Dixon Stink Eye™ when Rick had tried to suggest that someone else could easily do it so that Daryl could be here, with Rick, ready to lead the frontal assault. 

“Ain’t gonna take me that long to shoot one goddamn grenade, Rick. I’ll be back before your ears stop ringin’ so don’t gimme that crap, man. I wanna do this. Ok?”

Who was Rick to say no to that? The hunter had fired that first grenade at the beginning of this shitstorm -- it’d be fitting that he’d be the one firing the last one.

“Fine,” he’d conceded. “By the time you get back here, the truck’s hit the gate, so be extra careful -- the Saviors will be very, very pissed off.”

Daryl’s smile had been grim. “The Sanctuary didn’t kill me the last time. Ain’t gonna give it the satisfaction this time, either. Ya just take care of yerself until I get back, d’ya hear?”

And he’d slipped deep into the maze of roads and bushes and roadblocks and woods that surrounded the Savior headquarters.

Rick was cautiously optimistic about their plan. It’d been sensible before, but the RPGs, Oceansiders and ‘Kingdommers’ had been the cherry on top. Shit could go sideways, though, at any given second, and thwart the most perfect of plans -- and it had, so many times Rick had lost count. So he took another deep breath and focused on the job at hand. ‘cause that was the only thing in his immediate power, and by God, he’d get it right.

A loud explosion shook the ground, and less than half a minute later another one vibrated through the air.

Carol. Daryl. 

Rick glanced over his shoulder at the truck. Dylan, a guy from Tara and Michonne’s group and an absolute daredevil, had insisted on being entrusted with getting the four-wheeled bomb rolling towards the gates full speed. He’d jump out before the truck would hit the gates, and the others would cover him, so it’d be ok -- at least Rick hoped it would. Had to be done anyway, though.

Other than the rumble of the speeding truck and the echoes of the grenade blasts, outside the Sanctuary it was eerily quiet. Rick had ordered a complete silence in order to confuse the Saviors as much as possible. Shouting would only reveal the way they were deployed. Better to keep Negan guessing. 

The truck hit the gates, took down a few of the walker guards in the process, went through the flimsy gate structure without even slowing down, and crashed into the building. For a few heartbeats nothing happened. Then two shots in rapid succession cracked the air, two bullets hit the barrels tied on the bed of the vehicle, and the whole thing blew up and obliterated the huge roll-up doors at the loading area. 

If everything went as it was supposed to, the Saviors would now be completely flummoxed and in disarray, trying to be in three places at the same time -- and would have no idea that the Oceansiders and the Hilltopians were scaling the walls from east and north-west. Alexandria was handling the front, Ezekiel’s troops would take care that no Saviors got through the holes made by the grenades. And Sasha and Rosita… well, they’d be doing what they were best at.

Rick waited and listened to the random fire on the west side. Some Saviors were definitely pissed off, and he damped down the worry. Nothing to be done other than trust that Daryl could take care of himself. 

Oceanside and Hilltop needed some more time to get in position on the inside of those walls. And he was kind of curious to see if Negan would pass up an opportunity to parade and strut -- or if he still thought that gruesome threats and smooth rhetoric would let him keep the advantage.

He really hoped Negan would try to talk them out of this. It would make this real interesting, ‘s all. 

_-Daryl-_

He felt savage pleasure seeing the grenade disintegrate the factory wall. He couldn’t resist staying a moment, just to make sure the dozen or so of Ezekiel’s fighters had the situation under control. He took one last look at the dust cloud covering what was left of the first few floors of the western side of the factory, and just as he turned, ready to jog back to Rick and Carl, he heard the rumble of the truck, followed by the screech of the breached gate, the loud crunch as the vehicle crashed into the building, the shots, the explosion.

_So far so good_ , he thought. _This was the easy part. Now for the actual war._

And he tried not to think of Carol, probably now creeping like a shadow somewhere within those walls. She wasn’t supposed to, she was only supposed to fire that grenade, then stay with the Kingdom folk to guard the north side. But Daryl knew his friend, she’d never _not_ head into the thick of it -- not because she was bloodthirsty but because she knew she was efficient. Less people on _both_ sides would end up dead if Carol got to the Savior leaders first.

Daryl steered his thoughts clear of Aaron and Jesus, as well. They’d be scrambling over the eastern fences, maybe already were on the Savior side of them. 

He shrugged all this out of his head, cleared his mind, and concentrated on getting back to Rick so they’d cover each others’ backs and keep an eye on Carl at the same time.

He strode past a few Alexandrians who were spread thin, flanking the south side of the factory. He heard a rushed whisper and saw Tara’s face peer over a low concrete barrier.

“How come you always get the most bad-ass weapons?” the girl hissed. “When this is over, you gotta teach me the crossbow thingy. I wanna be Xena the Warrior Princess!”

Daryl slowed down. “Nah, she had a sword. You gotta talk to Michonne.”

She grimaced and emerged from behind the barrier and walked towards him. “I’d just look ridiculous. Imagine me waving a katana-”

Daryl’s smirk froze when shots started ringing over and around them. Furious yells came from the Sanctuary, from a platform outside the west wall where half a dozen enraged Saviors were shooting at everything that moved. One yell carried over all the others.

“Daryl fuckin’ Dixon!!!!! Can’t you just DIE already?!!!!!!!” The crossbow he’d taken from Daryl cocked and loaded, the seething Dwight aimed at Daryl.

It was all over in less than a heartbeat.

Tara screamed Daryl’s name, a frantic sound screeching in the hunter’s ears, and he’d never forget it, not as long as he’d live, the way the sound was cut in the middle just as the girl’s shoulder hit him straight into his ribs and shoved him aside. Daryl staggered back and dropped on his ass, and it took him another heartbeat to understand what he was seeing.

His friend. On the ground. Not moving. A bolt in her heart.

Through the blood-red haze he heard a loud laughter. Dwight was busy cocking another bolt -- not too busy to taunt Daryl, though. “Another chick dead because of you, Dixon! Again with your own crossbow no less! Why dontcha just shoot yourself in the head an’ be done with it? Or you’re waitin’ to see who gets it for you next?”

The red haze evaporated, Daryl scrambled up and reached for his gun, it’d be quicker than the crossbow, and he’d-

Someone was faster. The crossbow fell on the platform from Dwight’s lifeless hands. Daryl could see the surprised look on the man’s face as he followed the weapon. Someone had put him down with a single shot to the exact same place that had killed Tara.

Daryl twirled around and looked up on the roof of a broken down van. He’d never seen Rosita so pale, the golden hue of her skin turned ashen. Her eyes were sucking out all the light, like a black hole, like unpolished onyx. Daryl had nothing to say to her. She’d taken his kill. First Denise, now Tara….two people he’d loved were dead because of him, because of his own weapon.

There was nothing to be done but to give Tara the last service. He did just that and then carried her body behind the concrete barrier; she’d be safe there until he could get back and see to the funeral.

He didn’t spare a glance at Rosita or Dwight’s body slumped on that platform among the other dead Saviors. He forced the pain to freeze up, pushed it deep, deep inside of him, so deep he hoped he’d never find it again or he’d die of the guilt. He started to run, he still had a job to do, he’d finish this thing, and-

He was a few yards from Rick when he heard the shout. 

_-Rick-_

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU FUCKIN’ MORONS THINK YOU’RE DOING?”

High on the front side of the building, a small door had opened on the fire escape. Rick squinted up at the lone figure standing there, brandishing a familiar weapon. Negan was still half-hidden behind the door, and Rick didn’t bother raising his rifle. Would be so like Negan to try to distract the distractors, so Rick’s gun was firmly aimed at the windows of the third floor where he knew -- based on what Daryl and Carl had told -- the sharpshooters would be located.

He saw movement on his left and gave it a sideglance. Good, Daryl was on the other side of the alley, safely back from his mission. He heard Carl’s satisfied grunt behind him. “Daryl’s back.”

“Yeah, I saw him.” He glanced at his partner a second time and frowned -- something wasn’t right, the look on Daryl’s face… But he had no time for it; Negan was shouting again.

“I bet you _don’t_ know what the fuck you’re doing!” Negan yelled. His tone was reasonable now, like he was explaining things to a bunch of second graders, and Rick had to admire the man’s self-control. “I bet you’ve been misled. Misled, lied to, suckered into thinking you yourselves can handle all we’re handling for you. Ain’t gonna happen, d’ya hear me! You can’t fuckin’ do it. You couldn’t do it before we came along to save your sorry asses, so what the hell makes you people think you could do it now? Ain’t nothing different, you’re still a bunch of fuckin’ losers who can’t take care of yourselves. You fuckin’ _need_ us to keep you safe. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, ‘cause they’d be _lying_ to you. An’ you’d just get yourselves killed for nothing. Don’t make no mistake -- you may have punched a few holes but we still outgun you. Outman you. Fuckin’ _outsmart_ you. Don’t make me mad. Don’t make me do something we’ll all regret! Don’t make me forget that people are a fuckin’ _resource_ , d’ya hear me!!”

Negan paused to draw breath, and when he went on, his shouting had a honeyed edge to it -- showing them _the error of their ways_. Rick could’ve been worried -- but he wasn’t. No way would any of his people be taken in. Not any more. Not after Hilltop. Enid. Eric. Not after taking down the outposts and gaining new allies.

_You just keep talking. We’ll answer you soon enough._ Because nobody was answering the man yet. The echoes of the explosions and the random shooting had stopped, and Negan’s voice was the only thing breaking the complete silence. Rick felt it in his guts -- the way the silence made Negan _wonder_.

“I mean, just look at what you’ve done. You’ve achieved nothing whatso-fuckin’-ever! A few holes in the building -- that ain’t nothing! We’ve already got them covered! You threw your whole arsenal at us, and all you did was to give us a few extra vent-holes! Come on, ya gotta know you’re a joke, right? I bet Rick’s there, aren’t ya, Rick? Flailing your puny arms and gettin’ all these people I’m tryin’ to protect all confused? How’s that smart, hunh? I mean, I could get past this an’ we could get a beer an’ sit down an’ shoot some shit, but my Lucille, she ain’t the forgiving type. Ya gotta talk real fast with her, Rick. But you’re good at that, aren’t ya, talking. But see, that’s all you’re good at. Just look around you! This is all you did! No wonder you people need us to keep you alive, I mean, that’s some serious incompetence right there. Tell ya what, Rick. You come walking through that gate with your hands up within the next ten seconds, and we can let this slide. You come here and we’ll talk about reparations and compensations and all that boring shit an’ draw up a few contracts and shake on it like fuckin’ gentlemen. Bring Carl. Hell, bring Michonne! We’ll make a day of it!”

Nobody answered. Negan was like every other narcissist ever: couldn’t handle being ignored. So he stepped further into the fire escape platform, leaned on the railing and flung Lucille on his shoulder, and now that Rick could see him properly he saw that the man wasn’t quite as composed as he’d let out. His cheeks were furious red, and his jaw tightened as he prepared to launch another tirade.

This was what they’d been waiting for.

Negan died.

Rick didn’t see where Sasha’s bullet had hit; Negan’s body continued its downward trajectory and fell over the railing, in slow motion like in a bad action movie. But if Rick had to venture a guess, he believed Sasha had aimed at the forehead. It would’ve been fitting to hit his head after all the skulls he’d bashed in -- Glenn, Abe, Eric, and Lord knew how many others. 

Negan’s body hit the ground, and it was as if someone had given a signal. This was where the war truly started. The body of their indomitable leader crushed on the ground, the Savior fighters understood with terrified clarity there would be no mercy for them, so they fought like rabid ferrets. If Rick’s people had ever considered offering them peace, those thoughts were now in vain. They never got the chance. None of the Saviors begged or pleaded, none of them threw down their weapons, they just kept shooting, they probably didn’t even hear that Rick and the others hollered at them to stand down if they wanted to live.

The teams in front kept the fighters occupied while the other teams stormed the factory from other sides and shot and cut their way into the heart of the building. The shooters at the front window then had to turn their guns the other way, and Rick and Michonne’s teams sprinted to the building, ending the walker guards on their way.

After the cold-blooded, utilitarian slaughter at the outpost, Rick had thought he couldn’t possibly feel bad about killing anymore. He’d thought -- he’d feared -- that the calculating carnage would’ve smothered his conscience. But this? This sickened him. They would’ve shown mercy -- but they couldn’t. Rick shouted orders, he bellowed offers of a ceasefire until his voice gave out, and he couldn’t for the life of him understand why nobody seemed to listen. Why these people rather fought a fight they couldn’t possibly win.

Later, much later, he talked with some of the survivors -- yes, some did manage to survive, wounded and helpless and alive almost against their will. “We wasn’t stupid,” one of them said, looking at Rick with eyes filled with so much suspicion, even after being taken care of in Alexandria and tentatively welcomed to the community. “We knew what it was, with Negan. We knew what we’d done. We figured you were there for payback.”

Later, he heard how difficult it had been for the Hilltop group to get the regular folk safely out of harm’s way from the common room. The sounds of shooting and screaming and dying didn’t exactly reassure the families and workers, scared out of their wits, when a bunch of tight-lipped warriors emerged as if from thin air, held them at gunpoint, and at the same time tried to convince that they meant no harm, and that they in fact meant exactly the opposite.

So there they were, putting down the Saviors, and Rick didn’t only fight against the enemy, he fought against self-loathing. There must’ve been a better way, somehow, he should’ve thought of something… and then images of Negan and Eric flashed in his mind. He glanced at Daryl by his side, saw the dead glint in his eyes, and the grip on the crossbow, hands cocking and loading and aiming and shooting without a second’s hesitation, again and again and again, and he wondered what images were going through the archer’s mind. 

He wondered how much it would’ve made a difference, really, any talk about mercy and penalties and _what we’re gonna do after_. 

And then it was over, echoes of the shooting dying down, until all that was left were the quiet groans of the wounded. Daryl and Carl walked among the dead, finishing them off. Rick saw Michonne limp somewhere, nursing the wound in her upper arm, the sword dangling uselessly in her damaged hand. He saw familiar faces from both sides -- dead, or wounded beyond medical help. He heard a monotonous voice repeating _shit-shit-shit_ and noticed Eugene leaning on the wall, still holding a gun in his hand, staring at an old man, dead on the ground. Eugene finally sensed Rick’s eyes on him and turned his head slowly, tore his gaze away from the body.

“He wo- wouldn’t listen…” he stammered.

_No, they didn’t_ , Rick thought, and continued the slow scan of the rooms, feeling sluggish, listless, wondering what _the after_ could even be.

“Has anyone seen Simon?”

He turned around to see Carl tug at Daryl’s arm. “Can we go look for him, Daryl? Can we?”

Daryl didn’t answer, he marched out of a door, Carl hard on his heels, and Rick followed them. He didn’t like the way those two looked. Daryl should’ve stopped Carl but he hadn’t. Something was wrong.

They ended up in a maze of corridors and rooms. They looked into every room, found scared regulars, weeping families, even the room where Negan’s wives spent their days and where Aaron’s team already was explaining the new realities to the women. They went down a set of stairs, and another one, and arrived in a featureless corridor with damp chill floating in the air.

“Home sweet home,” Daryl said, voice blank.

“This is where they kept you?” Rick asked.

Daryl grunted and forced the doors open, one after another, with a crowbar he’d picked up along the way. Some rooms had stuff in them, the space used for its original purpose as storage. Finally Daryl stopped in front of yet another featureless room with yet another sturdy lock on it. The archer stared at the door, and Rick didn’t even have to ask: this had been Daryl’s cell. He touched Daryl’s shoulder to snap him out of it, and the man flinched like he’d been half waiting for something violent. Rick’s heart twisted painfully, but he could only hope that breaking down this door would bring a little bit of closure to Daryl. Closure -- not a revival of horrible memories.

“Daryl? Just get it open. Smash it to pieces.” The pent-up, vicious urgency had waned; Carl’s voice had a surprising softness to it, as if he’d picked up on Daryl’s mood and understood the reason for it. _And why wouldn’t he have_ , Rick thought. Carl might’ve been hurting, he might’ve been unseemly high on anger and vengeance, but the boy truly did care for the hunter, and for that short moment the darkness within the young man cracked and light was shining through. _Maybe they did have hope still_ , Rick mused, a bit dazed as he watched Daryl finally push and twist and yank and break down the lock so hard that half the door shattered.

A weak voice greeted them -- a voice that had lost its bite but none of its haughty spite. “I thought it might be you people. I knew it. I _knew_ it. Negan just wouldn’t listen to me. Kept yammering about the resources, kept smirkin’ an’ sayin’ he got it under control.” The voice -- Simon’s voice -- scoffed. “You put him in a dungeon already an’ threw away the key?”

“Nah,” Rick said. “We shot him and he fell down. Figuratively and literally.” He eyed the wreck of a man lying on the cold cell floor. Negan really hadn’t appreciated the way Simon had dealt with Hilltop. The man looked like he hadn’t eaten since that day, and the gruesome burn marks on both his cheeks looked like they’d received no treatment, and frankly, Rick didn’t get how the man hadn’t died from the shock. An unpleasant, sickening smell of burnt flesh wafted from the room, and Rick’s stomach protested. 

“Hello, Simon.” Carl’s voice shook with emotions. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

“An’ why’s that, you brat?” Simon sneered. “Negan’s li’l lapdog-”

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Carl cut in, “‘cause that means I get to kill you.”

Simon’s laugh hacked and wheezed. “Rick, Daryl -- you let a child do your dirty work now? Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” He wheezed another chuckle. “Whatever have I done to you, kiddo? Not that it matters. Just curious, y’know.” The man tried to scramble up, managed to lean on his elbows, had no energy to sit up.

Rick didn’t see Carl’s face from where he stood, but he saw the tense muscles and the too-straight back. It seemed that Daryl had returned from whatever abyss he’d been in, and they both started at the same time, lifted their hands to settle them on Carl, to try calm him down, to try make him reconsider -- but Carl’s arm was already on its way up, the gun was already almost aimed at the man who’d killed his girlfriend-

-and something flickered at the edge of Rick’s vision, squeezed itself between him and the frame of the door, quick as lighting, and the shot made Rick’s ears ring.

Simon slumped back on the floor; the bullet had pierced his throat.

Carl’s arm stayed up, frozen, and seconds passed without a word as they tried to understand what had happened. Simon’s life leaked out of him, the cell was echoing with his gurgles as the man died a slow death right in front of their eyes. It might’ve taken seconds, it might’ve taken minutes -- but finally, Carl’s arm started to shake, he lowered his gun, and turned to look right past Rick. His eyes were red-rimmed and glowing with dull anger.

“You! What right did you-,” his words choked in his throat. “I wanted to-”

“Well, you didn’t get to.” Carol’s voice was brusque. “Hate me all you want. I ain’t about to let a child become an executioner. There’s still some pureness in you, an’ you should hang on to it just a little bit longer. This world will blacken it at some point, anyway. But not today.” Her eyes flashed at Rick and Daryl. “What the fuck were you two thinking?” 

And she twirled around and left. Rick’s gaze followed her down the corridor, up the stairs as far as he could see.

Carl sobbed, and that was the sound that finally, finally drew Rick out of the peculiar haze he’d been ever since they’d stormed the building. He turned around and pulled his son close, let him cry and scream and curse. He brushed Carl’s back up and down, over and over again, grounded the boy with his touch, murmured whatever came to his mind, hoping the tone would soothe him. 

Daryl stood watching them, an unreadable expression on his face. It worried Rick that he couldn’t understand what was going on with the archer. Daryl did come to them, eventually -- he stood close like he didn’t quite know what to do. Rick gripped his arm.

“Come here,” he said, voice low, barely a whisper.

A long, long while passed before they let go of each other. It was finally over. Why didn’t it feel better?


	14. Freedom is never free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is not, alas, my creation. I found it on the net while searching for war-related quotes. I have no idea who it belongs to originally as the dear old internet doesn't seem to be able to make up its mind. On some pages the writer is "unknown", on some others there are various people mentioned. So I don't really know. However, I just wanted to come clean and admit it wasn't my genius mind that put those words in that order.

_-Daryl-_

It shoulda felt great, comin’ back to Alexandria. Bein’ free of the Saviors. Sittin’ at home together, on the couch with Rick, his arm around the leader’s shoulders, still sensin’ the ghost of Rick’s kiss on his cheek, ‘cause they could be together now, was nothin’ to force them to hide anymore. Starin’ at the fireplace and the flames, munchin’ Carol’s bread, still warm from the oven. Lookin’ at the family, the faces he loved so much. Hearin’ Carol move around in the kitchen, just like before. All cozy.

It shoulda felt great.

His gaze drifted, it wouldn’t latch onto anything. It brushed over Sasha and Rosita, huddled together in one large armchair, still trying to come to grips with Negan’s death. The source of their sorrow -- finally gone. Sasha at least had the satisfaction of knowing it’d been her bullet that had done it. She didn’t look satisfied, though. Rationally, Daryl knew that was how it worked. The idea of killing someone like Negan always seemed the thing -- but it never was, not really. Abe was still just as dead. 

Reason could go fuck itself, however. Reason insisted that Dwight was just as dead by Rosita’s bullet as he would’ve been by Daryl’s. _Fuck you_ , he thought, savage anger still simmering deep inside of him; it shoulda been him to kill Dwight, not Rosita. Reason didn’t know nothin’.

Aaron sat in the other armchair, eyes locked on the window behind the couch. Daryl wasn’t sure the man was seeing anything, though. He didn’t look so good. And that was why he was here and not in his own house. When they’d arrived back in Alexandria, Aaron’s steps had faltered when he’d got closer to their house. _His_ house, now. Just his. 

Rick hadn’t even said anything, he’d just grabbed the man’s arm and led him past it, and hadn’t let him stop until he was safely inside Rick’s house. Carl had taken him to Daryl’s old room, set up the bed for him, and that had been that. Aaron had tried to protest that evening as they’d been getting a few listless bites to eat. He’d mumbled a few words, had apparently felt the need to keep up a facade. It had come to nothing, Judith had seen to it. She had padded over to Aaron, climbed to his lap, burrowed her head in his shoulder. The man had swallowed down tears and said nothing more about leaving.

Maggie wasn’t in the house. She wasn’t stayin’, she said she was gonna go back to Hilltop soon. Help rebuild the place she’d become attached to. Right now, though, she was on guard duty at the main gate with Carl. The boy seemed to need to keep busy, and with Maggie, he could talk about Enid. If he wanted to. Daryl wasn’t sure he did. Everyone had their own way of dealin’ with stuff.

Michonne wasn’t here, either, and neither was Jesus. They’d stay at the Sanctuary for a few more days with Dianne, Beatrice, and a dozen other of their people to oversee that the former Saviors settled down ok. Later, there would be negotiations, arrangements, an’ whatever Rick and the other community leaders would think of to make the Sanctuary just another community with its own rights an’ responsibilities. Daryl felt a snort coming up at the idea _(Yeah, like that’ll happen…!)_ but he was too tired for it.

Rick shifted, wiggled even closer. Daryl’s weary mind wondered how he was doing. Rick had spoken to the Savior survivors the day after the fight -- _two days ago_ , Daryl thought, _it had been two days ago_. He’d seemed like his old self but he’d been awfully quiet the rest of the time. He hadn’t talked about it, and that worried Daryl. 

He just wanted to sleep for a week, and at the same time, didn’t want to. They’d stayed at the Sanctuary for two nights, rested in one of the rooms with Carl sleeping on a threadbare couch and the two of them curled up on the bed. Rick had wrapped his arms around Daryl and they’d tried to sleep, honest, they’d tried. But Daryl wondered if Rick had stayed just as wide awake as he had.

He didn’t know how to start talking. It was not in his nature to initiate it. He had no routine for it. And now that Rick wasn’t doin’ it, Daryl stayed quiet, too. Rick wasn’t asking -- and Tara wasn’t either. Tara would never hug him, tease him, waggle her eyebrows at him, ask awkward questions from him. Never again.

And that was why he wasn’t sleeping. The Saviors still had a grip on him. Tara had given her life to save him, and now…

He wondered if he’d been worth it. Tara sure wasn’t here to tell him that he was.

He swallowed. His eyes were dry. First, there’d been no tears, just murderous rage and self-hatred, and now, not even that. Just a great big empty spot. A great big empty silence, just waiting for the voices to start over again. 

He was afraid. He’d dozed off a few times, and the nightmares had been there, instantly, like a TV had been turned on in his head. A constant replay of Tara’s death. And just for variety, snapshots of Sanctuary fighters, hurtling to their needless deaths. A memory of almost allowing Carl to shoot Simon -- a memory of Carol’s contempt, her disappointed question. She had saved Carl; maybe she’d saved him and Rick as well?

The man in question leaned over and took another piece of warm bread from the coffee table, leaned back and settled comfortably again under Daryl’s arm, ripped off a morsel and offered it to him. He mouthed it off Rick’s fingers, and the casual, cozy gesture almost made him feel a bit better. Almost.

Rick at least had been worth saving.

_-Rick-_

“I don’t know what happened, Carol.” It was the first time he’d said anything about it.

Carol’s gray eyes were warm now. She’d been angry back then, and Rick admitted she’d had a good reason for it.

“I’m not gonna say it’s ok, Rick. You an’ me, we both know it wasn’t. I’m just glad I was there.” She touched Rick’s hand briefly, kindly. “I saw you an’ Daryl try to stop him. You would’ve been too late, but I know you tried. That counts for something. So don’t be too hard on yourself. It was…” Her gaze turned inward. “...it was a difficult day for most of us.”

They stayed silent for a moment, thinking. Trying not to think. Then Carol snapped out of it.

“What’s going on with Daryl? He talkin’ to you?”

Rick’s smile was wan. “You know Daryl. When’s he talking if no-one forces him to talk? And I haven’t exactly been doing that recently.” He tilted his head. “You know something I don’t?”

Carol snorted. “Loads, most likely!” She bit her lip. “No, I don’t. He’s not talking to me, and I haven’t felt comfortable with trying to make him. Daryl’s strong, you know that as well as I do, but losing Tara like that...it messed him up.”

 _What? What did she say?_ A deep frown appeared on Rick’s forehead.

“Losing Tara like that,” he repeated. “What do you mean, _like that_?”

Carol looked confused. “I mean _like that!_ What, you don’t know how Tara died?”

Rick shook his head slowly. “We haven’t exactly been talking about these things. I know she died. Shot straight to the heart, and Daryl saw it. What, you mean there was more to it than that?”

Carol’s eyes were round and aghast. “Hooooooly crap… So, Rosita hasn’t said anything either. Ok, Rick, here’s the thing: right after Daryl had fired the grenade and he was returning to the main gate, he bumped into Tara. They were talking when some Saviors started shooting at them. And Dwight was there, mad as hell, shouting at Daryl, aiming at him with the crossbow he’d stolen from him. Tara saw it, and pushed Daryl aside. She got the bolt in her heart, the bolt that had been meant for Daryl. He tried to shoot Dwight, but Rosita got to him first.”

“Jesus Christ…” How hadn’t he known? How hadn’t anyone told him?

How hadn’t he bothered to _ask?_

“Now don’t you go scolding yourself about that,” Carol ordered. “Simple case of miscommunication. Everybody thought you already knew, everybody thought Daryl had told you. But that boy ain’t good with that stuff, so he didn’t. And you didn’t know to ask. But now you know.”

Rick wanted to go find his man right away but he couldn’t. They were standing at the gate, waiting for their people to return from the Sanctuary. The gate guard had just hollered that Michonne and the others were coming. He had to put this on the back burner for just a little while longer. It didn’t sit well with him, but that was the price for being a leader.

Michonne greeted him with raised eyebrows. “What crawled up your ass and died?”

Rick schooled his features into a more welcoming calm. Michonne eyed him suspiciously but let it go. And for the next few hours he sat talking with his people, writing down tentative ideas about ground rules for the co-existence with the Saviors, and by extension, creating plans for an all-round agreement between all the communities.

Late in the afternoon, he went in search of the hunter. He found Daryl in their garage, crouching, staring at something on the floor.

“Whatcha got there, Daryl?” he asked. The archer startled and looked up, the long bangs shielding his eyes. Rick wanted to _see_ him, maybe for the first time since the attack, really _see him_. So he crouched, too, and brushed aside the strands of hair, let his fingers linger on Daryl’s face in a gentle caress.

The man looked tired, weariness wedged in the lines under his eyes -- eyes that lacked the usual alert glimmer, and the gray-blue was dim and subdued. Rick knew he hadn’t been sleeping well. Daryl tossed and turned during the nights, and his low whimpers had sometimes woken Rick up. Not that _he_ slept that well, either. 

Guilt churned in his belly. How had he not paid attention? He wasn’t the only one going through stuff after the attack. He claimed to love this man -- and he’d left him to deal with this shit alone. _‘cause sleeping in the same bed ain’t the same as being there for him_ , he thought, angry with himself.

A crossbow was lying on the floor in front of them. Rick’s heart sank. He recognized that weapon.

“You got it back?” he ventured.

“Mmhm,” Daryl grunted. “Couldn’t let him have his paws on it a second longer. No matter he was dead. It wasn’t his to begin with.” He touched the barrel, flinched, drew his hand back. 

“I wanna burn it,” he growled. Then he visibly forced himself to touch it again, picked it up, and they both stood up. “Denise, Tara… and who the fuck knows how many other people Dwight killed with it.”

He looked so conflicted that Rick had to remind him, “It’s just a thing, a mindless weapon. They weren’t your hands that used it to kill Denise and Tara.”

Daryl chewed on that for a moment. He weighed the weapon in his hands. “I know. Just feels wrong to hold it…” He swallowed. “But I… Back at the prison, _you_ gave it to me.” His bangs had fallen on his eyes again; and again, Rick brushed them aside. He needed to see Daryl’s eyes.

“It’s just a thing,” Rick said again, voice gentle. “If using it causes you pain, you should get rid of it. I’ll find you a new one. A _dozen_ new ones.”

“Ya wouldn’t mind?”

“I don’t care what you do with that thing. I care about _you_.” Rick took the weapon from him and tried to lighten up the mood. “Sure, you’re really hot with a crossbow, and I’m not the only one who thinks that,” ( _yay, it worked_ \-- Daryl’s mouth curved into a small, surprised smile), “but it’s gotta be a crossbow you feel comfortable with. You have your spare bow, you can use that one. We’ll find you a new one eventually.”

“Ya don’t think I’m...ridiculous? About _that?_ ” Daryl’s gaze drifted over to the weapon.

“No, of course not. If someone took my Python an’ killed my friends with it, I’d have a hard time gettin’ over it,” Rick said and shuddered at the mere thought. “It’d take a lot of work, and I think.... what with the world bein’ what it is, is it really worth the trouble, to spend energy on something like that? Weapons are replaceable. If you absolutely want to go through with that, I’ll support you, of course I will. But… is it really worth the work, Daryl? You wanna burn that thing, I’ll help you light the fire, that’s for damn sure.”

Daryl had lifted his eyes to Rick, and some of the anxiety had waned from his face. Rick dared to push it a bit.

“But it’s not just about the crossbow, is it?” He lowered the weapon on the floor and leaned on the wall, ready to listen. Daryl didn’t turn immediately, he took his time.

“Nuh, it ain’t. An’ ya know this how?”

“Tell me how Tara died,” Rick countered. That made Daryl turn towards him.

“Tara died like Denise -- ‘cause she took a bolt meant for me. She saved me, an’ that got her killed.” His fingers had curled into fists, and the scowl was furious. 

It didn’t faze Rick, however. He knew it wasn’t targeted at him; it was targeted at _Daryl_ , and that was much, much worse. 

“They both died ‘cause of me,” the hunter snarled. His knuckles were white, his arms trembled with pent-up emotions. 

Rick could just kick himself. Daryl had spent the entire time, these past five days, stewing in guilt and self-recrimination. And Rick, the resident trained police officer, had -- as usual -- seen nothing. Because he hadn’t _looked_. All this time, they could’ve helped _each other_ , if he’d just taken the initiative.

“But that’s where you’re wrong,” he said, kind but firm. “ _Dwight_ killed them -- not because of you but because of his _determination_ to kill you. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you an’ Dwight, it started with you trying to _help_ him? You gave him no reason to hate you. It was _his_ decision to shoot at you, both times.”

He paused to draw breath. Daryl’s gaze was intense, he was listening. Rick searched for the right words.

“Dwight...he had a lot of anger in him. We’ll never know if he was a shitty person to begin with, or if the time under Negan’s rule twisted him beyond all recognition, an’ frankly, we don’t need to know. All we need to know is that he aimed his rage at you, for whatever reason that probably made perfect sense to _him_. Your only fault was to try help him all those months ago. Helping people ain’t a sin, Daryl. We’ve helped people countless times and most of it has turned out ok. So, you did good back then. Dwight, not so much. Denise died not because of you but because of Dwight. Tara died because she loved you very much and didn’t want you dead. Tell me, how is that different from what you did with Joe’s people? You _offered your life_ in exchange for mine, and Carl’s, and Michonne’s. You could’ve died, you _would’ve_ died. Should I have blamed myself for getting you killed? You would’ve watched us from Heaven and expected, _wanted_ , us to pay you back for your sacrifice with years of wallowing in self-blame? That’s what you’re saying?”

Daryl stared at him. His fists had relaxed, and the scowl had tempered to an annoyed frown. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re tryin’ to do,” he growled. After a long pause, he snorted. “No, ya shouldn’t have blamed yourself for something _I_ decided to do. Wasn’t your fault that Joe’s guys were a bunch of fuckers, either. Happy now? Do I get a gold star or somethin’?”

The hunter still frowned and growled, but there was life in his eyes again, and a soft, barely-there undercurrent of relief in his tone. Rigid muscles in Rick’s shoulders relaxed. Daryl had listened -- now he needed time to think it through. Rick hoped that the worst was over. Daryl being Daryl, Rick was fully prepared to give the speech a few more times, though, to make sure it sank in. The sense of worthlessness had sunk deep in the hunter’s bones and lay in wait there, always ready to raise its ugly head. Sometimes he seemed to need a bit of help in talking it down, ‘s all.

 _Whatever it takes_ , he thought. Then he stepped closer to his man until they were practically nose to nose. 

“Or something,” Rick answered, and let his nose bump into Daryl’s. “Gonna kiss you now, if that’s alright with you?” 

Not that Rick really expected him to say no. It was just... these past days, they had kissed, of course they had… they had slept in the same bed, and there had been a few quick hand jobs -- but not much else. And most definitely not much in the way of real intimacy. There’d been this weird barrier, and only now did Rick understand what it had been. His own unresolved business about the attack. Daryl’s nightmarish guilt over Tara.

Now, the intangible, shimmery veil between them had been yanked away, and Rick felt the occasion merited the question. The air was clear again -- it was as if they were starting afresh.

Daryl settled his hands on Rick’s hips and pulled him close. The hunter’s lips were warm and so, so familiar. It flashed through Rick’s mind that for the last few days, their kisses had been about escaping. Now it was more like coming home.

As he wrapped his arms tight around his lover and deepened the kiss, Rick knew it wasn’t all over -- they still had shit to deal with, Daryl still might have nightmares, Rick still had to cope with his own insecurities, of being a leader of a crippled community, of heading a complex unification process…

...There was still a lot of work to do. But now they were back on the same page again.

Daryl’s fingers sank into Rick’s curls, he nipped Rick’s lower lip -- almost playful, almost like he’d been a week ago. Rick chuckled into Daryl’s mouth and felt the first glimmer of actual, unequivocal hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is my headcanon that Rick gave the crossbow to Daryl during the prison era. I don't remember whether it was ever actually shown in the show who handed the weapon to him -- Michonne picked it up from Morgan's lair, right? -- but I think it was Rick, and that's it :D
> 
> Last chapter next Tuesday, and it will be somewhat longer than this one. There's still stuff (maybe even thangs -- who knows!!) that needs to happen...


	15. Dawn

_-Daryl-_

“What’s with all the bakin’?” He mumbled the question, mouth half full of warm carrot muffin.

Carol stayed quiet. She took another batch of muffins from the oven and straightened her back. She looked out the kitchen window, with a light frown on her face. Not an angry frown, just a pensive one. Then she turned to Daryl.

“It feels good to cook for someone,” she replied and flashed a small smile. “I didn’t mind being alone, not really. I...I needed it. But you are my family, and I did miss you. I missed you all. You laughed at me, back when we came to Alexandria, ‘cause I smiled an’ smiled and kept baking goodies, being the Friendly Neighborhood Housewife...but y’know, it wasn’t all an act. I like to cook and bake. And now that I’m back, it feels like...like it’s fun to show my love for you with baking, rather than killing…”

In spite of his newly-acquired skills of saying ‘I love you’, the words just wouldn’t come out. So he nabbed another warm muffin and bit off a small morsel, chewed and swallowed, all the while looking into her eyes.

“Ya know what I mean.” It wasn’t a question.

Carol smiled. “I’m glad you love me too, Daryl.”

Yeah, ok, so, maybe it wasn’t the most _not_ -dysfunctional way of communicating -- show your love by bakin’; show your love by eatin’ -- but as long as they got it, fuck anyone else. 

He leaned on the kitchen table; she watched him, again with the small smile on her face.

“You look better,” she said.

Daryl grunted. He _had_ been sleeping better since he’d had that chat with Rick. 

“You happy with him?” That was the first time Carol touched on the subject.

He nodded -- a small, abrubt jerk of his head. “Yep.”

“Good.”

Daryl swallowed down the last of the muffin. “Ya ain’t gonna ask if he’s happy with me?”

Carol’s eyes twinkled. “Don’t need to. Rick isn’t exactly inscrutable. I see how he looks at you.” She chuckled. “I see how _you_ look at _him_. All starry-eyed.”

Good Lord! 

“Yer talkin’ outta yer ass, woman,” he huffed, but couldn’t really insert the required indignation in his tone.

She grinned. “You’re not fooling anyone, Pookie. And I don’t know why you should, either. Nothing to be ashamed of with being in love. You deserve to be happy.”

Daryl still wasn’t quite sure of that but Carol didn’t wait for him to protest -- she took a few quick steps closer and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Shut up and be happy, Daryl,” she commanded with a soft voice. “You two are good for each other. Just accept it.” She brushed his arm with her hand. 

The amount of feelings that simple gesture triggered in him made his chest swell so much it ached. It wasn’t unpleasant as such, it was just… damn. He swallowed and changed the subject.

“So, what’s up with you an’ the dude with the tiger?”

Carol let out a short chortle; she saw right through him but she let it slide. “Nothing. At least, nothing yet.” She turned back to the kitchen counter and started putting the dirty utensils in the sink.

Daryl could tell she was stalling. He waited. If Carol needed space to think about what -- if anything -- to say, he’d give her that space.

After she’d cleaned the counter and washed the utensils, she turned back to him. “I like him,” she said with a low voice. “And I think he likes me. I just don’t know if it’s enough. I don’t-”

She averted her eyes and her voice got even lower. “I don’t know if I’m ready to take another chance. With anyone. It all always ends up with, y’know, _ending_. I don’t know if I can handle it.”

Daryl lifted his eyebrows. “And yet you tell me to be with Rick?”

She snorted. “Stop trying to look for logic in what I say. It’s just a feeling and there’s no logic in them. I’m just afraid, I know that. Probably...just a coward, y’know.”

Daryl laughed out loud. “If you’re a coward then I dunno what the rest of us are. Less than chicken shit, probably.” He grabbed the woman by the shoulders, pulled her close and hugged her. “Give it time, Carol. I got a feeling Ezekiel ain’t goin’ nowhere, he’s got that look when his eyes are on you. An’ they’re on you a lot.” 

Ezekiel had been in Alexandria for the past two days, preparing for the first big negotiations, and Daryl had had plenty of opportunity to observe the man. 

Carol didn’t say anything; her arms tightened around Daryl’s waist and she burrowed her face in his neck.

“I know he’s asked you to participate in the negotiations with him, as a representative for the Kingdom,” he muttered in her hair. 

She shifted, pulled back a bit, chewed on her lip. “Yeah… I told him that’s a stupid idea. Jerry or Dianne or basically anyone else would be a better choice. I’m not one of his subjects, for God’s sake… I’ve lived on the fringes of his Kingdom for the past half year, that doesn’t make me an expert on their affairs…”

Daryl cut in. “I guess it all comes down to whether you value his judgment or not. I don’t got much patience with his theatrics, but he don’t look stupid, an’ I think he knows perfectly well what he’s doin’, askin’ you. It ain’t a marriage proposal neither, so ya don’t hafta worry about the relationship stuff,” (that got a small chuckle out of her), “it’s cold hard business, an’ you’re good with that. An’ it would be good for us, too, y’know, me an’ Rick, to have you there. We don’t know Ezekiel but we know _you_ , and the more people we know, the easier the negotiations will be.” He corrected himself as soon as he got that last sentence out. “Well, not _easier_ , what with the Savior representatives, and the Oceanside leader, but at least _less difficult_.”

She nodded, still looking unhappy about it. “I know, I know… I’ve got to think about it…”

“The negotiations start tomorrow,” Daryl reminded her. 

“I know.” She sighed and nabbed a muffin. “God, I need at least two muffins to help me make up my mind.”

“You want company?”

She hesitated; then she shook her head, grabbed a second muffin and headed out of the kitchen. “Thanks but no. I think I’ll go home to do my thinking.” 

Daryl watched her walk out of the house. Carol leaving like that didn’t offend him, as she had known it wouldn’t. Because they knew each other.

God, how he’d missed her. He’d personally tear apart anyone who’d cause her to vanish again. These negotiations had better work out -- Carol deserved to concentrate on the love-by-bakin’, and forget love-by-killin’ for as long as possible.

Restless, he ambled to the living room window. Life was starting to blossom in Alexandria again. There was the occasional smile, a chuckle here an’ there, kids were allowed to play without anxious moms an’ dads hovering around them all the time. The losses they’d all suffered during the Savior reign, during the war -- they’d got them on their knees but the apocalypse people were resilient. They were already clambering up.

Someone came running from the direction of the church, some stranger obviously aiming for a dark-haired, slim woman who was strolling along the street, deep in her thoughts, paying no attention to the danger behind her. Adrenaline burst in Daryl’s blood, he was half-way to breaking the window just to be able to get to Rosita that much sooner, but then he saw her turn and the man slow down and raise his hand in greeting, not in attack.

Daryl’s heartbeat settled down. He watched Rosita talk with the blond stranger -- hey, _not_ a stranger! Daryl racked his brain. Where had he seen this man, where…? -Oh. Ezekiel’s people. The guy was one of the Kingdommers. That didn’t much explain how one of them would be frolickin’ after Rosita, or why Rosita would let him, but by the looks of it, the attention wasn’t unwelcome to the woman, even though she had the inscrutable badass look on her face. But her shoulders weren’t tense, her posture was relaxed, her hands loosely crossed, an’ if you looked real careful, you might just see a shadow of a smile on her face. The young man, on the other hand, was concealin’ nothing. The puppy dog infatuation on his face made Daryl shake his head and roll his eyes. Anyhow, the only threat to Rosita seemed to be an overdose of wild flowers, a barrage of syrupy babble, or some other blast of saccharine.

Daryl turned from the window and was just about to go out in search of Rick when the man stepped in, looking annoyed as hell.

“To think that I thought Cyndie was too cocksure for her own good…”

“Natania gettin’ on your nerves?” Daryl tried very hard to look compassionate but the scowl Rick gave him told Daryl he hadn’t quite succeeded.

“Too bad Cyndie’s only assisting her in the negotiations. I’d much rather only deal with the girl. Gimme cocksure any time over frowny and paranoid…”

“The Saviors _did_ massacre their men so she’s got _some_ reason to be paranoid,” said Daryl in a bout of fairness.

Guilt brushed over Rick’s face and sobered the annoyed look. “You’re right. You’re right. I shouldn’t… I’m just-”

“You’re nervous. Ain’t no wonder. A lot’s ridin’ on tomorrow. The Sanctuary people arrive yet?”

“Nope. Hard to blame them, though. The idea of spending any extra time here can’t be pleasant. I bet they won’t get here until tomorrow, and just minutes before the negotiations start.” 

Rick leaned on the living room doorway, breathed in and out a few times, rubbed his eyes, peered at Daryl. “You got crumbs on your beard,” he observed with a smile. “Has Carol been here?”

Daryl huffed, brushed away the remains of the tasty pastries. “Ain’t you the regular detective.”

“Just call me Sherlock, why dontcha, darlin’.” Rick grinned, the burst of levity wiping the worried lines off his face.

“They’re still warm,” Daryl said referring to the muffins. “Ya want one?”

“Nah,” the leader said. His eyes narrowed, and a calculating look focused on the hunter. Daryl tilted his head, lifted an eyebrow, and tried to ignore the interested twitch of his cock. Maybe he was reading this wrong…

Or maybe not. Rick stepped away from the wall and got so close that Daryl felt the tickle of his short beard.

“How would you feel if I asked you to make me forget all about the damn negotiations?”

Rick’s breath was warm on Daryl’s cheek, the rumble of his words undulated on his skin. Rick’s lips brushed over Daryl’s jaw and stopped just below his earlobe. The hunter had concentrated on the tiny sparks the touch had triggered, and Rick hadn’t yet received his answer.

“So, how about it? Feel up to the challenge?” Rick murmured in Daryl’s ear, and god _damn_ how the soft current of air made his skin tingle…

 _Hunh_ , Daryl huffed in his mind, for the moment unsettled by the obvious request -- not the request in Rick’s words but the one in his voice. It wasn’t just any ol’ lovemaking the man was asking for. 

_This is new._ He caught the tone of his own thought and was surprised to notice there was exhilaration in it. _Ya bet I’m up for the challenge._ He gripped Rick’s hand and tugged the man upstairs to their room and locked the door. This thing wouldn’t need an audience.

The sapphire of Rick’s eyes had turned a darker shade. The man watched him -- alert, expectant. And if the bulge in his pants was any indication, turned on as well. Daryl took it all in, heard blood whoosh in his ears in all the best ways -- nothing scary about it this time, oh no, not at all! -- and pushed the leader of Alexandria against the wall so hard the _thump_ reverberated in the room. Rick let out a startled yelp; Daryl swallowed the sound as he pressed his mouth on Rick’s.

He wasted no time. The way things were, anyone could come to their house at any time -- everyone wanted a piece of Rick these days, what with the negotiations looming over their heads. And he was impatient, he liked the way Rick needed him right now, he wanted to try out this new set-up, this new role of his. He wanted to make Rick take his mind off the cold, hard facts of post-apocalyptic life. If Rick needed to be thrown around a bit, who was he to say no to that…

Jesus, his dick was about to break free of his pants, he was so fuckin’ hard it hurt. He wanted to grind against Rick, get his hands all over the leader’s tempting body, mess up his curls, kiss his lips so red and puffy that _everybody_ \-- including the ladies from Oceanside who’d been oglin’ Rick much too openly for Daryl’s taste -- would know this man was already taken.

But first things first. So Daryl reined in his lust, took a step back, and eyed his partner. Rick leaned against the wall with unfocused eyes, rumpled clothes, and mouth half-open, tongue flicking over his lips. Daryl toyed with the idea of simply rippin’ off the offending clothes but then he remembered that one time a coupla weeks ago.

“Take your clothes off,” he ordered, and crossed his arms, tilted his head, and let his eyes roam all over Rick’s body -- he wanted Rick to know who was in charge this time.

The leader’s eyes narrowed again but he did what he was told. Boots, shirts, pants, underwear -- Daryl watched how more and more of skin was revealed, and he had a hard time keeping his cool. Rick’s cock was leaking precum, it dribbled down the shaft, vanished into the bush of coarse dark hair.

Rick stared at him. Waited _orders_ , and Daryl’s head spun with an overdose of lust.

“Touch yerself,” he commanded, the voice coming out strained. Rick’s fingers obeyed and wrapped around his cock, started a slow movement up and down. Daryl heard a low groan, an indistinct mumble of pleasure, and swallowed. _Good Lord…_ “Don’t go anywhere,” he said, and went to the nightstand to get the small tube of lube stashed in the drawer.

Rick’s eyes followed him when he walked back. The slick sound of Rick’s hand, the scent of sex, the feel of Rick’s warm skin under Daryl’s hand engulfed him as he ran his palm down Rick’s side, down, down, until he gripped Rick’s hip and forced himself not to squeeze too hard.

 _Not too hard. Just… hard enough_. 

Rick gave a short, strangled moan, and his hand moved faster and faster.

“Nuh-uh,” Daryl grunted, and he grabbed Rick’s wrist. “Ya don’t get to come just yet. I got plans for ya.”

Obediently, the leader complied, slowed down, relaxed his grip. Daryl ran his fingers over the twitching cock and brought them to his mouth, sucked them clean, one by one. Rick stared at him, watched his lips, hungry and avid, ready to pounce for a kiss but apparently still wanting to play this game.

Daryl relented. Also, he was dying to kiss the man, so it was a win-win situation.

“Come on.”

Rick pounced. Sparks flashed behind Daryl’s eyes, he staggered back a few steps from the force of Rick’s attack, but he wouldn’t give up the control and turned them around, made Rick walk backwards towards the bed. The man whimpered, his cock was rubbing against the hard denim of Daryl’s pants, and the hunter shuddered at the thought of the pleasure-pain the contact would give.

He flipped Rick around and stepped back, really _looked_ at the line of his back, the tight swell of his ass, the muscled thighs, slightly bowed legs. Daryl chewed on his lower lip, tried to decide where to even start. He hadn’t done _this_ before.

The clock was tickin’, though. No time for finesse. No time for second-guessing.

He closed the distance again, let his hands roam on Rick’s shoulders, sides, waist, stomach. He bit the muscle on his shoulder and raked his fingernails down the belly. Rick drew a quick breath, the abs fluttered, and when Daryl ran his fingers hard over the soft skin on Rick’s groin, the man shivered and arched his body, and his ass ground against Daryl’s cock.

It wasn’t just Rick who was moaning now.

“Whatcha gonna do?” the leader asked, voice barely audible.

“Ya know what I’m gonna do.”

Rick’s reply was a growl and another grind against Daryl. The hunter went on, his voice low and raspy.

“‘m gonna get my fingers real slick, an’ ‘m gonna open ya up real good, an’ ‘m gonna fuck you so hard the only thing on yer mind’s gonna be my dick. Ya like my plan? Ya gonna say ‘Please’?”

The stuff that came out of his mouth so damn easily during sex still weirded him out some, but he was slowly gettin’ used to the way he’d turned out to be, an’ Rick seemed to like it an’ that really was the only thing that mattered.

Rick’s breath stuttered, his “Please” was a mere flicker in the air. Daryl chuckled, licked on the bite mark on Rick’s shoulder, dragged his nails back up over the sensitive batch of skin, and when Rick jolted under his touch, he gripped his ass with both hands.

“Thought so,” he breathed in Rick’s ear. Daryl pushed the man and he took the hint. He got on the bed on his hands and knees, and Daryl licked his lips at the sight. If someone came knockin’ on their door right now, he’d be seriously pissed off.

He leaned over to kiss Rick’s back, ran his tongue over the spine, grazed his teeth on the protruding vertebrae, sucked on the skin of his buttocks so hard it left red marks, and gave a brief thought on what else he could do down there if only they had more fuckin’ time. Like, literally more _fucking time_! The thought brought a smile on his face and a burst of saliva in his mouth.

He kneaded Rick’s ass, felt how the man flexed his muscles, heard the low groan and another quiet “Please”. He licked his thumb and brushed over the tiny pucker, watched it flutter, pressed down a little, but Christ, it was so tight… He picked up the lube from where he’d dropped it when he’d pushed Rick on the bed, and covered his fingers with the oily substance.

Rick arched his back and pushed his ass towards him, and the blatant _craving_ was almost too much. “Jesus fuck,” Daryl muttered, “ya know how ya look?” He didn’t wait for an answer, he pushed a slow finger inside of Rick, first one, then another, worked him open, brushed over the prostate again and again, ears full of slick sounds and Rick’s whimpers, eyes glued on how Rick took him in, sucked him in, tight and hot and, and, FUCK! he couldn’t wait anymore. With his free hand he somehow got rid of his buckle and zipper and the fuckin’ annoyin’ pants, an’ his underwear probably got ripped (Jesus, he’d never wear the fuckin’ things again!), but finally his dick was free of the stupid clothes, and he pulled his fingers out, slow and careful, and _how’re my hands shakin’?_

He spread lube on his cock and fought against coming from the sight of Rick looking at him over his shoulder, eyes hooded and black and feverish.

“Gonna fuck me anytime soon?” the leader asked, and it wasn’t any sort of challenge, it was a variation of _please_.

“So impatient,” he drawled back, running his lubed hand over his hard cock. “Maybe I’m just gonna leave ya like that, Rick. Make ya jerk off all by yerself while I watch. Ya got those nice, long fingers -- maybe ‘m gonna make ya fuck yerself, see if ya can make yerself come on yer fingers.” Daryl felt dizzy; where the frickin’ FUCK these words kept comin’ from? “Maybe ‘m gonna eat ya out, gotta say it looks tasty enough, see if ya can come on my tongue-”

Rick bashed his head on the mattress. “Oh God, Daryl… I’m gonna come on your _words_ soon… Shut up and fuck me already!” 

It was nothing like he’d imagined, an’ _everything_ he’d imagined, bein’ inside someone like that. Bein’ inside _Rick_ , bein’ wanted like that, bein’ _trusted_ like that.

Daryl closed his eyes, gave himself over to the sensations of the heat and the slick and the squeeze. Of the light layer of sweat on Rick’s skin under his palms, of the way Rick shuddered and cursed and panted. He only opened his eyes when Rick cried out his name.

“Daryl..! ‘m so close, so close, so fuckin’ close… Daryl, God, please, oh-”

Daryl stared at Rick’s ass. His dick moved in and out of Rick’s puffy, glistening hole, and every _out_ felt like Rick wouldn’t want to let him go, an’ every _in_ was like an invitation. 

He hadn’t known it’d be like this. Stupid, really, but there you were.

His jumbled thought process came to a halt when Rick let out a long, long moan, his whole body shuddered and shook, and his channel convulsed, massaged Daryl’s cock with its tight squeeze, and Daryl’s vision blanked as he came.

Good Lord.

Jesus Frickin’ Christ.

He had no fuckin’ idea how he’d pulled himself out of Rick, or how he’d come to lay by Rick’s side, panting, covered in sweat an’ all kinds of other stuff, or at what point Rick had drawn him in his arms. But there he suddenly was, feeling Rick’s kiss on his temple, and realizing he was running his fingers back and forth through Rick’s chest hair, lazy an’ comfortable an’ happy beyond measure. And wasn’t that a weird feeling, after-

Daryl stopped right there. The only thing, the ONLY thing he wanted to remember of the friend he’d lost was her teasing grin when -- less than two weeks ago -- she’d mocked him relentlessly about the scatterbrained smile on his face, and insisted on knowing which one of them was the top. “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’,” Daryl had tried to scowl at her, but her laughter had echoed and tinkled in the cave. The only, ONLY thing Daryl wanted to remember her by was the sound of her pleased little huff when she’d said she was happy for him. She’d been an awesome friend, she’d be happy for him now, too. And Daryl knew without the smallest doubt that if the situation at the Sanctuary had been reversed, he would’ve jumped to push Tara out of harm’s way without a second thought, just like Tara had done for him, ‘cause that was what friends did. That was what _family_ did. They wanted what was best for the other one, and did what had to be done to ensure it.

Was it weird somehow, that this, here, was when he made his peace with losing Tara? An’ if it was, who’d give a fuck about it? The world was weird enough, what was a little more of it? Not that Daryl was gonna tell Rick what kind of thoughts he was havin’ just moments after a frickin’ awesome fucking, but even if he did, he was kinda sure Rick would understand. Understanding Daryl was sorta Rick’s thing. 

Rick nuzzled him and gave another gentle kiss on his temple. Daryl wrapped his arm around Rick’s chest and kissed him back. Funny how he enjoyed the way their short beards scraped against each other. He even liked the tiny scratchy sound it made. Fuck it, he liked _everything_ about this! 

“So, how was it for you?” Rick drawled in an obvious fucked-out bliss. His fingers tangled in Daryl’s hair.

“I guess I could be persuaded to fuck you again,” Daryl quipped, his voice hardly any more energetic than Rick’s. “An’ you?” 

Rick smirked. “I guess I could be persuaded to be fucked by you again.” 

Daryl snorted. “That’s cute. We’re persuadable to hell an’ back, apparently.”

A lazy grin spread slowly on Rick’s face. “Nah, we’re _amenable_. _Flexible_. They’re such nice words.” He chuckled. “Also, I liked your dick up my ass.”

Daryl barked a short laugh. “Made up your mind about what ya prefer?”

“Do I gotta? Can’t I like both?” Rick was still joking but there was a serious undertone in his question.

Daryl chewed on his lip for a second and gave the matter some thought. “Don’t see why not. There ain’t no rule books about this, ‘s far ‘s I know.” He tickled Rick’s side, smiled at the giggle, dropped the sober tone from his voice. “What I suggest, in the interest of science, naturally,” (“Naturally,” Rick echoed, sincerity oozing from his voice, like he’d guessed what Daryl was about to say.), “is that we test the, um, _alternatives_ some more. A chore ‘s a chore, but whatcha gonna do, science ‘s a serious bus-”

He got a well-deserved elbow in his side. “Shut up,” Rick ordered with a half-hearted scowl.

Daryl laughed out loud -- probably for the first time in almost two weeks -- scrambled off the bed and dragged the eminent leader of Alexandria to the shower.

“We gotta get decent. Ain’t gonna explain to Carl or Michonne why our door’s locked in broad daylight.” 

_-Rick-_

Next morning, the sun woke him up, a playful ray hitting him square in the eye. He turned on his side, comfortable under the warm blanket he shared with Daryl. The hunter lay on his stomach, snoring softly, and all Rick could see of him was the mess of dark copper brown hair. 

A corner of his mouth curled. _This is how I wanna wake up every morning for the rest of my life_. _The world’s a goddamn shitshow but I get to have my best friend, my partner, my lover, here, by my side… I’m the luckiest son of a bitch in the world, an’ I don’t know how I deserve to have someone like him._

He threaded careful fingers through Daryl’s wild locks and grinned to himself. He could never, not in a million years, actually _say_ that stuff to the hunter. Daryl would snort so hard he might hurt himself; listening to flowery love confessions really wasn’t within his comfort zone. Not yet at least -- Rick planned on changing that. He wanted Daryl to become comfortable with the knowledge that he was loved, appreciated, worthy in every possible way. He planned on having years to change that -- and for that to happen, for them all to have years ahead of them, today had to be a success. 

The negotiations. Crap. He wasn’t looking forward to them. He hadn’t been looking forward to the war, either, but he was a police officer, a man of action, not of paperpushing and slow diplomacy, and he’d never claimed otherwise. Today required a whole different set of skills than anything he’d used with the Governor, or getting out of Terminus, or attacking the Sanctuary, or handling the everyday skirmishes with walkers.

Today was about rebuilding the future -- it wouldn’t be showy and intense like bombs an’ bullets, but slow and ponderous and unimpressive, and he wasn’t at all sure he was at his best with something like that. But he had the very best of motivations. He had children, he had family, he had a life partner. So he’d do the best he could. He and Daryl, together. 

Daryl still hadn’t woken up. Rick crept closer, curled up against Daryl’s sleep-warm back and nuzzled into his neck. The hair tickled his nose and he sneezed.

“...hunh?” Daryl stirred, wriggled on his back, and squinted at Rick. Then he went from sleepy to alert in a second. “Crap. Today’s the day.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Need coffee. We got any coffee?” Daryl rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, I think so. Gonna kiss you first, though. Negotiations can go fuck themselves if I don’t get a kiss from you first,” Rick said with an exaggerated pout.

“Yer an idiot,” Daryl grunted, but flipped Rick under him and kissed him, gentle and leisurely and thorough.

*

Carl was helping Judith build a pillow fortress with the couch cushions, and her giggle greeted Rick and Daryl when they descended the stairs. The men peeked in the living room just in time to see the wobbly fort collapse on Carl. Judith gave a delighted squeal, and started to dig his big brother up from the sea of pillows. Carl’s muffled cackle brought a smile on Rick’s face.

“He’ll be ok,” Daryl said in a quiet voice. “He just needs time. An’ Judith an’ lots of pillows to play with.”

Rick glanced at him, smiling, and turned his gaze back to his children. Carl emerged -- cheeks flushed, hair mussed -- and noticed the men. His laughter quietened but a small, genuine smile remained as he fended off Judith’s tickle attack.

“Hey, Judy, look, there’s dad an’ Daryl!” he said, and took the wriggling toddler in his arms. “They’ve got a big day today. You wanna go hug them? They need a lot of hugs today, Judy, you’d better get started.” He let go of her and she ran full speed to her dad.

Rick chuckled and crouched to welcome her. He stood up, Judith snuggling in his arms, and smiled at Carl over her head. 

“You got plans for today?” Daryl asked the boy. 

Carl plopped down on the pillows. “Nuh, we’ll just stay home. Jonah’s gonna come here soon. His mom’s been teaching him to play the guitar an’ now he’s gonna teach me.” He rolled his eyes. “That’ll give Judy something to laugh about…”

“At least it ain’t the drums…” muttered Daryl.

“You remember to watch Judy?” Rick asked, and got an indignant scowl from his son.

“I’m not even gonna dignify that with an answer,” was the teenager’s lofty reply.

Judith gave a loud kiss on his dad’s cheek, then made grabby hands at Daryl. The hunter huffed but didn’t object a kiss of his own in the least. 

“Ya watch your brother, ok, Li’l Asskicker?” he rumbled, and got a solemn nod in answer.

Rick carried his daughter back to Carl and the collapsed castle.

“You’ll tell me everything tonight, right?” the boy asked.

“Of course,” Rick said. “Just because there’s only ten of us in that room doesn’t mean what we talk is gonna be a secret. You know that. It’s just easier to keep the situation under control when dozens of people aren’t there to pipe up whenever they feel like it. Tensions will run high as it is, and we need some peace an’ quiet if we want to get anywhere with these negotiations.”

Carl gave a slow nod and seemed satisfied enough with the answer. Then there was a knock on the door; Rick and Daryl headed off to the kitchen for some breakfast, and Carl let Jonah and the guitar in, and the three kids vanished upstairs to his room. 

*

Rick and Daryl weren’t the first ones to arrive at the school gym that had been chosen as the venue, with five long tables and a bunch of chairs arranged in a circle. It looked very professional -- if you ignored the mismatched furniture and the bright basketball court lines painted on the floor. 

Ezekiel already sat on one of the tables, one foot resting on a chair. He was chatting with Maggie and Jesus who’d sat down at the Hilltop table, looking much more respectable than the boisterous King who’d just burst out in a loud chortle. Rick still didn’t quite know what to make of Ezekiel. Their personalities were polar opposites -- but he figured there was no reason to underestimate someone simply because they’d never be bosom friends. Carol seemed to respect the man, and that was recommendation enough for Rick. 

He and Carol, they’d had their differences, but those differences had ceased to have any meaning after all this time. They’d gone through several hells together, and Rick trusted the woman with his life. And what was even more important, he knew _Daryl_ trusted her with _his_ life -- and the people Daryl really trusted were few and far between.

The fact that Carol now sat at the King’s table didn’t much surprise him. Daryl had told him about Carol’s hesitations, but Rick would’ve betted on Carol not wanting to give up the chance to participate, and, as it turned out, he’d been right.

They walked towards the table that had a paper taped on its side with ‘Alexandria’ scribbled on it. Jesus smirked at them and nodded towards the paper.

“We’ve got this ‘United Nations’ vibe goin’ on, don’t we?” he said.

Rick noticed someone had sketched a picture of the Alexandria church on the paper. He glanced at the others -- ‘The Kingdom’ had a roaring tiger leaping over the text, Barrington House was beside ‘Hilltop’, ‘Oceanside’ had a stylized shark curled under it, and even The Sanctuary had been graced with a coat of arms of their own, a fortress of sorts.

“Someone’s got way too much time on their hands,” muttered Daryl.

Ezekiel had stood up and now walked towards them. “It is what today is all about, isn’t it, Daryl?” he asked, holding out his hand, apparently feeling that the portentous day merited a formal handshake. “A peace so strong that people shall have time and energy again for more than the bare necessities of survival.” 

The men shook hands. The others followed Ezekiel’s example, albeit with a light smile on their faces, and there was some more shaking of hands. Then in walked the Oceansiders -- the sullen Natania and the bright-eyed Cyndie -- and Rick hid a smile watching Daryl’s expression darken a bit more each second. The hunter had nothing against Cyndie, and he couldn’t care less of Natania’s scowls -- but he did not enjoy shaking hands with strangers.

They hovered in front of the tables, unsure whether it would be polite to sit down before the last group had arrived. Natania scoffed at the very idea of caring about the feelings of the fifth community, and strode towards their table. Rick made up his mind that instant.

“Don’t.” He didn’t yell. His voice was sharp and commanding, and it made Natania stop in her tracks. “It is hard enough for them to come here at all -- we will not start off by treating them as if they were inferior. We treat them with civility, or otherwise this negotiation is pointless.”

Natania actually snarled, and Cyndie gave her a worried glance.

“They are Saviors. They’re killers, butchers, worthl-”

“Be quiet,” Rick cut in, his voice lower, more menacing. “We are not a jury, and The Sanctuary is not on trial here. The Saviors bullied us, there’s no denying that. The people coming through those doors any minute now, however, they’re not _Saviors_ , they’re the representatives of a _community_ called _The Sanctuary_. If we treat them like the Saviors treated us, at some point this whole thing will just start all over again. The history of humankind is full of examples of what happens when the downtrodden have had enough. Hell, _we_ were an example of that! I _will not_ let that start happening again. Not on my watch. So, Natania, can you be civil to them or not? If not, then say so _right now_ and leave. Cyndie is perfectly capable of handling today’s negotiations on her own; later, you can assign her an assistant for tomorrow.”

Everyone stared at Rick. Natania was pale as a ghost, and Rick kept his hard gaze glued on the older woman. 

Finally, she looked like she was going to give in; she opened her mouth, but they never found out what she was about to say because right then her eyes shifted, moved away from Rick, looked over his shoulder. Daryl was already turning to the doors and Rick moved right along with him.

Two people -- a man and a woman -- stood at the door, dumbstruck apparently, as they couldn’t seem to get a word out. Rick had a sinking feeling they’d witnessed the incident. What an awesome beginning.

Trust Jesus to save the day. He strode towards the Sanctuary couple, hand extended for a shake, a dazzling smile on his face.

“Well, wasn’t that awkward!” he said, voice full of easy charm. “It’s over now, though, so we can get on with the business at hand.”

The woman -- blond, in her thirties, with a pinched look on her face like she was ready to lash out at the slightest provocation -- obviously didn’t know how to handle Jesus’s disarming attitude. Dormant, pre-apocalyptic, pre-Savior manners pulled an instinctive reaction out of her, however, and she took Jesus’s hand and shook it politely.

The others approached the trio. Jesus kept on a jovial small talk, and was now shaking hands with the Sanctuary man. He was much younger than the woman, barely older than Cyndie. He had a wary look in his eyes, but other than that, he didn’t have the same battle-hardened feel about him, not like the woman. For a second, Rick wondered why they’d sent such mismatched representatives to such an important event -- but then it hit him: they probably had hardly any leaders left. Most likely, there simply hadn’t been a lot of options.

He stepped at Jesus’s side. He couldn’t muster a winning smile for the couple, but he took great care that his voice was calm and as friendly as humanly possible as he welcomed them and introduced them to the others.

The woman cleared her throat. “I’m Laura, he’s Alden.” 

The young man flashed a small smile. “Hey. Sorry we’re late. We bumped into a few dozen walkers on the way an’ it took a while to dodge them.”

“Why didn’t ya just off them?” Daryl asked, half curious, half disdainful.

Alden blinked. “It was just the two of us. We figured it’d be too much of a risk.”

The hunter snorted but didn’t say anything. Alden frowned.

“Killing them would’ve taken time which we didn’t have. Guns might’ve attracted even more of those things, and if we’d gotten killed, what would’ve happened to this?” He waved his hand at the others and the gym. “You would’ve thought we’d decided _not_ to negotiate after all, and-”

Daryl grunted. “Ok, yeah, I get it. Just… didn’t figure you were comin’ alone, ‘s all.”

Laura’s voice was stiff. “We thought you wouldn’t want more of us here.”

Rick looked at her. She met his gaze without flinching -- calm now, determined, unwavering. Keeping her animosity in check. He gave her a nod. 

He could work with these people.

*

After six days of talking, arguments, lunch breaks, talking again, tea an’ muffins, restless sleep, and some more talking, Rick had a splitting headache. The notebook on his desk had pages and pages of scribblings which were being transformed into formal Terms at that very moment: with her beautiful handwriting, Maggie was fashioning a third draft of the Terms. There would probably be a fourth, maybe even a fifth draft, until everyone was satisfied with the content and the wording. But it was a good start.

Carol and Jesus stood up and vanished somewhere -- probably to get them all some tea or whatever. Time for a break. Rick closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed them. Stupid headache.

Daryl’s hand pressed on his thigh, the warmth of it calmed him down. His eyes were still closed, he leaned on his elbows, massaged his temples -- and _listened_.

He hadn’t really paid attention to it, it had happened so gradually. One sarcastic snort less here, a few angry snides less there. A snigger turned into a cautious chuckle, an accusation into a genuine question, a few rigid demands into a few compromises. 

As she was writing out the latest draft, Maggie was chatting with Natania about the pregnancy. Ezekiel’s deep chuckle mixed with Alden’s voice; the young man must’ve started again with one of his anecdotes -- he seemed to have an endless supply of those. Laura was still aloof, but there’d been definite thawing recently, and Rick recognized her voice as she replied to Ezekiel’s comment, and the tone held no anger or suspicion. Maybe it wasn’t a friendly voice yet, but it wasn’t an _un_ friendly voice either, and that was progress. 

Cyndie’s chatter and Daryl’s answering grunts were the next sounds he focused on. For whatever reason, she had started to befriend the sulky hunter with all the determination of a stubborn bull, and to Rick’s (not to mention Daryl’s!) immense surprise, they actually got on well once Daryl got over the shock of having the quick-witted, talkative girl shadowing him at all times. Cyndie didn’t seem to fear Daryl’s scowls in the slightest, and badgered him to teach her the crossbow and the tracking and whatever happened to cross her agile mind.

A couple of days ago, Rick had overheard Daryl making some things perfectly clear to her. “I ain’t into chicks an’ I’d be too old for ya anyways,” the hunter had blurted out, putting all his embarrassed confusion in furious scowls. 

Cyndie had laughed a full minute, hiccupped, and reassured him. “You think I’m blind, Daryl? Rick would probably skin me alive if I so much as winked at you! No, Daryl,” and Cyndie’s voice had grown more serious, “I just like you, simple as that. Tara talked about you all the time on our way to the outpost. She said you were her best friend, so sure, I was curious. You can’t be bad if she liked you so much, so stop with the frickin’ scowls, will you? I just wanna be your friend, alright?”

So, if Rick was hearing right, this time those two were spending the break discussing fishing, of all things. _Riveting_ , he thought, and rubbed his temples some more. 

“Whatcha smilin’, Rick?” Daryl’s question cut into his thoughts and he squinted at his partner. Daryl and Cyndie both were watching him. 

_Hunh. I was smiling?_

Apparently he was, and despite the headache the smile grew to a contented grin.

“I was just listening.”

“To what?” Cyndie wanted to know.

“To _this_ ,” he said, and his gaze traveled from group to group. He didn’t know how to put it into words, this quiet hope that was spreading in his heart. 

A month ago, Alexandria and Hilltop had stood alone, with a shaky, secret pact loosely tying them together. The Kingdom had been a frustrating X factor, whose mere existence had made Rick feel even more alone -- a whole community dangling so temptingly just out of their reach, preferring to watch them take all the risks.

A month ago, he hadn’t known Oceanside even existed. And if someone had suggested that Saviors were perfectly welcome to sip tea and swap funny anecdotes with them, he would’ve… Frankly, he didn’t even know how he would've reacted. Some things you just couldn’t imagine.

Was it perfect, this thing with the quiet chatter and sporadic chuckles and people randomly changing seats during breaks just to get to know each other? No, it wasn’t. It was tentative at best, and anyways, ten people gettin’ along didn’t equal a paradise.

It was a start, though. 

He watched Daryl and Cyndie watch the others, and saw understanding in their eyes. Daryl turned to him. 

“Yeah, well, ain’t ready to leave my crossbow hangin’ on the living room wall just yet.” He paused, grazed his lower lip with his teeth, and sighed. “But I guess…I guess it’s a start,” he conceded grudgingly.

“Oh stop bein’ such a grumpy old man-” chided Cyndie. 

“Ain’t old!” Daryl objected.

“Fine. You’re grumpy, though, but you’re not foolin’ me or Rick. Right, Rick?” she addressed the leader who smiled at her. “You’re hopeful but you’re scared of it, Daryl. Well, I’m scared, too, we all are. Feels too good to be true, y’know. I still don’t wanna invite those two to dinner,” she jerked her head towards the Sanctuary table, “and Ezekiel is just too weird with the tiger an’ all, but I don’t wanna shoot anyone either, not anymore, and,” her voice turned confidential, “Alden’s kinda cute, dontcha think?”

“Oh Jesus…” Daryl groaned.

“Well, he’s cute too,” said the impertinent girl and waggled her eyebrows. 

Rick burst out laughing. Daryl had walked right into that one. The hunter gave him a scorching glare.

“You’re no help.”

“But she’s not wrong, they both _are_ cute,” Rick teased him. 

“Fine. Fine!” The hunter shook his head in mock despair. “I’m surrounded by idiots who can think of nothin’ else than cute guys.”

Maggie had stopped writing a while ago, she was laughing at them openly. Even Natania’s strict face was slightly less so as she observed her grand-daughter’s flushed, smiling face. 

Jesus managed to surprise them; the man had padded behind them with his usual soft gait carrying a tray of steaming cups of tea. He lowered the tray in front of Rick who congratulated himself for managing _not_ to jump three feet into the air, thus saving his reputation as the inflappable leader. 

“I heard nothing,” Jesus declared. “Most especially I heard no-one call me cute, nu-uh, an’ ain’t it sad, the way _no-one_ ever calls me cute…”

“Yes yes,” Maggie said with a dry voice, laughter dancing in her eyes, “you’re woefully underappreciated. Nobody ever looks at you twice. Oh, wait…!”

Jesus grinned at her, winked at the Alexandria table, and continued his round with the tea tray.

The smile stayed on Rick’s face -- the headache had eased, Daryl’s hand was still on his thigh, and the slow flow of hope kept on taking up more and more space in his heart. He tried to remind himself that this was only the start, there were bound to be setbacks, and who knew what kind of unhinged freaks they’d have to fight next. 

He settled his hand on Daryl’s. The hunter glanced at him briefly, quirked a corner of his mouth in a swift smile, and went on with the deep discourse on fishing he had going with Cyndie.

So maybe there’d be trouble on the horizon. So what? There always was. But they’d keep building their future -- they’d keep _believing_ it could be done. _We’ve taken down every enemy we’ve encountered so far. Let’s see how good we are with makin’ friends and_ **_keepin’_ ** _them. Hell, I’m willing to bet on us._

Carol handed warm muffins to everyone. Maggie cleared her throat and stood up with the draft in her hand. “Ok people, listen up. I’m gonna read this to you so pay attention. An’ come on guys, no interruptions like last time! If there’s something you’re not happy with, make a note, and we’ll discuss it after I’ve finished.” She looked at Rick. He nodded, and Maggie started reading.

Rick leaned back in his chair and decided he’d leave worrying about the unknown future for another day. _So sue me -- I’m gonna be optimistic about this for a fuckin’ minute._

**_-THE END-_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks! Hope you liked it, and THANK YOU for reading it :) 
> 
> Comments & kudos are, as always, really really welcome :)


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